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honey-riley · 4 months

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Love You To Death || S.R.

WARNINGS: Military themes, guns, weapons, violence, detailed gore, mentions of Simon's past.

A/N: This contains an OC :) her name is Honey Tailer (my user is after her 🫡), she's German, so I hope you brought your google translate or other translators. There are more descriptors of her in the story itself <3

A/N pt.2: I'm learning German, and for most of the dialog in German, I use a translator. So, if anything is incorrect in German, don't behead me pls.

wc: 5.9k

1 || 2

War.

That's all that ever ran through him. A traumatized, mean, brooding war machine. Ever since he was little, that's all he could remember. The war within his household, the constant abuse that his father passed around. The constant abuse he endured as a child had profound and lasting effects on him. It shaped his worldview, eroded his sense of self-worth, and left him with deep emotional scars that manifested in his brooding and mean demeanor. The war within his household became the war within himself, and it consumed him every day.

He had never truly felt warmth. Sure, he had happy moments, moments where he could forget the trauma, moments where the gray cloud looming above him would clear. But only for a moment. He was human after all. The impact of his traumatic childhood on his relationships was profound. He struggled to form deep connections with others, always keeping them at arms length, afraid of being hurt again. His fear of vulnerability and his need for control made it difficult for him to trust and open up to others, resulting in a cycle of loneliness and isolation.

Riddling himself with routines, sticking to schedules, running everything in a timely, comfortable manner is what he loves. What he thrived on. It was something that he knew he could rely on. Every morning, he would wake up at the exact same time, following a strict routine that he had meticulously planned out. From the moment he opened his eyes to the moment he closed them again at night, every minute of his day was accounted for. He found solace in the predictability of his schedule, as it provided a sense of control and stability in a chaotic world. His routines became his lifeline, a way for him to regain some semblance of order in his life and protect himself from the unpredictable nature of human interactions.

So, the day that someone broke that routine for him, that was a day that he was going to remember.

Preparing for a mission, he went in with his normal routine - shower, get his gear on, put the mask on, prepare mentally, head to base, scan in, have breakfast, pack his tactical vest, check his gear, clean his weapons, and head out to the chopper by 0400.

This time, when he got to the chopper, there was a new face. Striking green eyes, long black hair that was slicked back into a regulatory military bun, fair skin, and God, was she short. Standing at four feet, eleven inches, just barely meeting the height requirements.

"Lieutenant." Laswell nodded as he approached. "This is Sergeant Honey Tailer, hope you don't mind her joining you today." She added with a smile. Ghost stuck his hand out for Honey to shake, which she accepted, giving him a firm shake back.

He took in her appearance one more time, noting her black, polished boots, her uniform, which wasn't digital camo, but more like spotted camo. She had a German flag on her shoulders and on her tactical vest.

"My pleasure, Lieutenant." She smiled softly, her German accent apparent in her words. It wasn't strong, it was subtle, she sounded like she had been speaking English her entire life - but she hadn't.

"It's great to meet you, Sergeant." He nodded, releasing her hand.

"Honey's going to be your DM for today. She'll provide surveillance, make sure you guys keep your heads." Laswell grinned as she looked over at Honey. DM, or designated marksman, was a good position to be in - a position that they needed in the team.

The team then loaded into the chopper, strapping into their seats. Honey's rifle sat on her chest, the barrel pointing to the tin floor of the chopper as she looked out of the window. She stared off, lost in thought, devising a plan on how she would go about this. It was an in and out mission, quick and easy - if things went according to plan.

Honey would provide recon and examine from a distance, while the team went in, gathering intel, hopefully going undetected, then Soap would plant the bombs, they would all get back onto the chopper, where Soap would detonate them.

"You'll do just fine, kid." Price's gruff voice snapped her out of thought as he patted her on the shoulder. Honey shot him a small, tight lipped, slightly nervous smile. She was used to this kind of stuff, but to work with a team she had never met, find her groove all over again, and to do it in time, was nerve wracking.

"This isn't your first time, right?" Ghost grunted as he looked over at her, his voice deep, almost like a growl.

"No, sir. I've been deployed multiple times." She replied with a nod.

Ghost took that in an almost snooty, stuck up way. Like she was so young, and she had all this experience, and she sounded like she was bragging about it. That irked him.

Instead of saying anything, he stayed quiet, crossing his arms over his chest. To pass the time, Honey put her AirPods in, and turned on some music, letting out a small sigh as she leaned back into her chair.

There was something about her that Ghost didn't find appealing. Something about her annoyed him, but he couldn't tell what it was.

The metallic sound of her ring clanking against her rifle as she tapped her fingers to the beat of the song she was listening to only made his annoyance grow.

"Wha' song are ye listenin' to?" Soap asked, nudging her.

"Oh, Love You To Death by Type O Negative." Honey said, looking over at him with a small smile.

"Damn, gothic stuff." Soap chuckled, cuing Honey to nod. "Yer pal, Ghostie over there loves that kind of music." Soap chuckled, nodding towards Ghost, making him let out a small scoff.

Not only was Honey now annoying him, she also had the same taste in music? That felt like it wasn't going to fly with him for whatever reason. He was already annoyed that his routine had been disrupted, and now, her presence alone annoyed him more.

"Alright, team. We're landing in Verdansk, just to refresh, you are to take out Makarov. He's in a highly guarded area, with plenty of people surrounding him." Laswell said over the comms.

"Copy." Honey replied, letting out a small sigh. She was the one who was tasked with disturbing the hive - taking out Makarov. She had already been filled in on why they needed him dead, and all the other necessary things such as his identity, where he would be at, his rank, what he looked like.

Once the chopper landed Price divided everyone into partners, and one trio. Ghost and Honey were tasked with surveillance. Ghost was Honey's spotter.

'I'm gonna be stuck with this annoying, snooty, stuck up bitch?' Ghost thought to himself. He kept his opinions inward, thankfully. Usually, with new recruits, he was very vocal about his disdain for them. This time, he kept his mouth shut, just wanting to get the mission done quicker.

Honey established a sniper's nest, and laid on the roof of the building opposite of where the team would be infiltrating.

"What's the drag?" Honey whispered, looking through her iron sights, ready to set her rifle up.

"Not a clue." Ghost grunted as he looked through the scope of his own rifle, adjusting accordingly. He did know, he just wanted her to struggle a bit, make her more 'human' in his eyes.

"You're no help." Honey muttered under her breath, looking down her iron sights again. She glanced over at Ghost for a moment, turning to her own rifle, contemplating something.

She deftly reached over, sliding the scope off of his rifle.

'Now she's trying to fuck with my gear?' Ghost scorned in his own mind. He looked over at her, his brows furrowed under his mask before he snatched his scope back, sliding it back on.

"Du erzeugst ein Glitzern." She growled, taking it back off.

"English." Ghost muttered under his breath, starting to get pissed off.

"You're creating a glint. There's people in that building that can see you because of your scope." She growled, looking over at the moon for a second before looking back at him. She subtly lifted her hand, pointing at the opposing building, and indeed, a faint reflection from the scope could be seen if you knew where to look.

He let out an audible scoff, rolling his eyes. He adjusted his rifle, getting used to just using his iron sights.

"It's a 42 meter separation, the wind is blowing south-east. We're facing north-west. The wind is 6 knots. Light breeze." He replied, telling her what she would need to adjust her rifle.

"Any visuals on Makarov?" Laswell said through the comms.

Honey glanced through a pair of binoculars for a second, seeing Makarov working at a table in an empty room, his back turned to the window.

"Positive. Black, short hair, suit, I can't tell how tall he is, but Ghost can verify that it's him." Honey replied through the comms. "It's him, Kate." Ghost muttered into the comms. "Permission to take the shot?" Honey asked Laswell.

"Granted." Laswell replied.

Honey put down the binoculars and Ghost picked them up, ready to watch Honey shoot Makarov.

Honey lined up her shot, calculating the drag, and the possible path that the bullet would take once it hit the glass. Doubt nibbled at the edges of her mind, raising its voice as her finger hovered over the trigger. But she pushed it away, reminding herself of the countless hours of training. She took a deep breath, pulling the rifle tight to her shoulder, holding her breath so that the shot was steady. She loaded her chamber, taking the rifle off of safety, and slowly squeezed the trigger.

Ghost's heart raced. He felt a pang of jealousy, mixed with a swirl of emotions. 'This should've been mine,' He thought, his chest tightening. 'This is my team. What does she think she's doing, muscling in on my territory?' His fists clenched around the binoculars, sweat dripping from his temple.

The bullet shattered through the glass, sending a gory red mist into the air as Makarov's head exploded. Ghost's jaw clenched as his anger bubbled, the realization of what just happened setting in.

Honey laid her rifle down, staying on her stomach as she glanced over to Ghost. She could see the tension in his body, the balaclava clinging to his face with each heavy gasp for air. Unsure of how to respond to Ghost's obvious displeasure, she gave him a small, tight lipped, reassuring smile.

Ghost glared back, his eyes filled with the intensity of his rage. 'She's taken everything from me,' he thought. 'I can't let her win. I can't let her take this from me too.'

In the aftermath, the team sat in stunned silence, their gazes fixed on the lifeless body now sprawled on the floor. The reality of their success hung in the air, a weighty, shared accomplishment that lingered, tainted by Ghost's bitter resentment. This was a man that they had been tracking for years and Honey came in and shot him like it was nothing. Like it was the easiest thing in the world. And God, that smile afterwards pissed him off so much more.

'What the fuck is she doing? This was supposed to be my job. What the hell does she know about shooting?' Ghost fought with himself internally. He hated this. He ha=ted everything about her.

The pair watched as the team infiltrated the room, occasional gunfire sounding through the air. Honey watched as Soap went in, took a laptop and all the needed files, planting a few bombs on his way out.

Honey stood up, grabbing her rifle, unloading the chamber and putting it back onto safety. Ghost stood up as well, grabbing his own rifle, storming his way back down the flight of stairs to the ground floor.

"Ghost." Honey said as she followed him, her rifle slung over her back. He didn't bother waiting for her, or even listening to her. He silently stormed his way back to the chopper, getting in, and buckling himself up.

Honey set their things back where they belonged on the chopper, ensuring that nothing would fall out. There was an awkward silence as they waited for the rest of the team to get back to where the chopper was. Nikolai sat in the cockpit.

"How was the mission? You finally nail him?" Nikolai grinned, his thick Russian accent apparent in his words as he looked back through the door, glancing at Ghost.

"Honey did." Ghost muttered, his fists balled under his biceps as he crossed his arms. "Her shot was just luck." He added, looking outside of the chopper, avoiding eye contact. He knew it was more than luck - it was skill, but he didn’t want to admit it.

Honey winced at his words, looking over at him, her eyes narrowing slightly. She glanced away, keeping her eyes off of him. She had always been doubted. She had worked her entire life for this moment, and the entire time, she had been doubted. She didn't know why it even hurt at this point - she should've expected it. But, she was going to stand up for herself for once - even if it didn't work.

Honey looked at him, her brow furrowing. "Luck?" She asked, her voice slightly hurt. "I took the damn shot, calculated it. I did everything I needed to. And it's just luck? I’ve worked my entire life for this, I’ve worked my ass off. Making sure that I could make a damn shot." She added. Honey wanted to get frustrated, she wanted to argue, but she took a deep breath, keeping her mouth shut.

Ghost's jaw dropped slightly at her response. His glare softened, his unwavering anger faltering for the first time. He didn't know what to say to counter her words, her confidence - and for once, he found himself at a loss.

'All of my years of practicing, honing, just for it to be chalked up to luck? Fuck this guy.' Honey thought to herself, letting out a sigh. She wanted to be on this team, she had worked for it for years. She wanted to be on the top - the best of the best, and this was her chance. She wasn't going to ruin it.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the rest of the team getting into the chopper, carrying files, laptops, and USB sticks. Everything that they could get their hands on that could be important, they took.

"Let's watch this puppy blow." Soap chuckled as he buckled into the chopper. Nikolai lifted the chopper off the ground, getting it a distance away before Soap pressed the button, making the entire building explode and collapse in on itself.

Honey watched as the orange and yellow flames licked the air, huge billows of smoke and debris shooting up into the air.

"Christ." Honey murmured, watching the smoke shoot up. The blast wave then hit the chopper, making it sway and vibrate. Nikolai quickly corrected, starting their flight back. The flight back to base was almost silent, everyone processing what had just happened, and why it had happened.

'Why was Honey the one to kill Makarov? Why was this new recruit the one who got to end the man we had fought to kill for years? And why was it so easy for her?' Ghost was furious at the thought of it.

'Why did she get the pleasure? The satisfaction?'

When they got back to base, Ghost just wanted to get his report filled and then think things through in his quarters, but of course, Laswell had other plans.

"You and Honey are bunking together." Laswell said as she opened the door to his quarters. Honey stood behind Laswell, her bag slung on her shoulder as well as a few other things in her hands - two pillows and a blanket.

"What about Soap?" Ghost asked, looking over at the other bed in the room - the bed where Soap slept. That side of the room was blank, Soap moved rooms.

"Soap bunked with Gaz. We don't have another room for Honey, so she's going with you." Laswell said, turning around and walking away. Honey came in quietly, her steps silent.

She placed her things on the bed, avoiding him. She busied herself with the task of getting her things set up - making the bed, putting her things in her dresser and closet.

"There are rules here." Ghost grunted as he watched her, his attention drawn away from his paperwork.

"Keep your shit on your side of the room, keep it clean, keep it neat, and don't talk to me." He added. Honey didn't do anything but nod as she folded her clothes. Pajamas, uniforms, dress uniforms, civilian clothes - they were all put away neatly.

There was something about her, something that kept his attention away from his paperwork. Something that kept him from focusing. Maybe it was the rage towards her, maybe it was the envy - there was something. Something that he hated. Something that Simon despised. Ghost hated it more.

What do we think of the first part, y'all? Do we love it? Hate it? Eh? Lmk what I can work on as well! My ask me is still open :))

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obsessedelusional · 1 year

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Bad For Business

paring ✦ Bella Ramsey x Fem!Reader

summary ✦ Bella and you work together. Forming a close friendship, spending so much time together. As your feelings for Bella grow you become distracted while filiming. Staying up late and showing up to work late. What happens when a producer notices? You confront Bella with your true feelings. Inspired by Bad For Business - Sabrina Carpenter

word count ✦ 900ish

authors note ✦ not me posting at a reasonable time and not three in the morning this kinda short but it’s cute lol

masterlist

Feedback & Reblogs are helpful and extremely appreciated ♡

⊹ ꙳ ✦ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹

“I know everyone sees it. He’s going to be the death of me.” You sigh mid rant to your closest friend on set, Sara.

“You’re crazy.” She laughs.

“Because of him! He’s so good for my heart but bad for business.” You respond heated. Taking a bite into the lunch they serve on set today. Only causing Sara to laugh harder than before.

“You don’t know him the way I do, you wouldn’t get it.”

“Yeah I don’t. You two work all day side by side then hang out all night? That’s your excuse for being late?” She asks reiterating the staring point of your rant.

“It’s a never ending cycle. Bella has broken into my head. That’s why I’m never paying attention and forgetting lines I swear he does it on purpose. Sending me winks and smiles when it’s my turn to say my lines.”

“Girl you have all this pent up frustration. You need to tell Bella how you feel, let the frustration out."

“What if they don’t feel the same way? Then I’m stuck working with him for a few more weeks.” You respond, have played this scenario a bajillion times before out in your head.

“You’ll never know it until you try.” Sara says with a shrug of her shoulders.

“Actually now that I’m thinking about it I’ve never been so glad to be exhausted. I’ll just get used to not getting to work on time. It’s fine.”

“Yeah until some takes notice and you get talked to.”

Sara was correct because when the final scene for the day was done filming one of the film producers asks you to follow them to their office. Your sat opposite of them at their desk waiting for them to speak.

“Don’t worry your not in trouble.” She says and you breath finally.

“We’re just worried about you.” Her face falls filled with concern.

“You’ve been late nearly everyday. You seem distracted when we’re filming. Is everything okay?”

“I’ve just been struggling to get any sleep. I think it’s just hard for my body to get used to this new work schedule and environment.” You say, coming up with this white lie on the spot.

“That’s understandable. We just really need you to be on your a-game.”

“I will make an effort to get to bed early tonight.” Bella hadn’t asked you to han yet so maybe you could actually attempt this.

“We’re giving you tomorrow off. Consider it a mental health day. Gets some rest, come back refreshed. Okay?”

“Will do.” You smile before she excuses you.

Your walking out of the office towards your trailer. Praying that you don’t bump into Bella. You make it inside your trailer with out being caught. Your busy undressing and getting your things ready to go when there’s an obnoxious knock at the door. A knock you’ve grown to recognize by the best they use every time. You can’t get the door fully open before Bella lets them self in.

“My hotel or yours tonight?” Bella leans against the counter.

“Can’t tonight.” You respond, avoiding eye contact.

“Why not?”

“Because I just can’t.”

“Can’t what?” He asks, pushing your buttons knowing exactly how to get a reaction out of you.

“Oh my god Bella. I can’t stay up all night with you. I got called into the office and told off about how I’ve been late to work all week, can’t even pay attention when we’re filming together.” You say, it coming out more annoyed than you had wanted.

“And that’s my fault how?” You only roll your eyes in response, shoving your belongings into your back pack.

“Please talk to me. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.” Bella says, you stop what your doing to look at him. His big brown doe like eyes on full display making you fold. You knew for a fact that he knew the power of his gaze constantly using it against you. You groan out loud at him knowing where this is headed.

“I used to get to work on time until you starting taking up my nights. I’m mad for you.”

“Mad for me?” Bella questions, face filled with confusion.

“I’ve been trying to fight these feelings for you.”

“Feelings for me? Pfft no way.” Bella crosses his arms across his chest, not believing you in the slightest.

“We look so good together and I like the way you love to laugh at my dirty jokes. I know they’ll always land with you. I’ve never been so glad to be so tired. You’re so nice it’s bad. You’ll be the death of me at this rate and I have absolutely no desire to stop you.” You spill your guts to Bella and he doesn’t respond. Only looks at you like your crazy.

“Ok that’s why I didn’t want to do that. ” You zip up your back pack ready to rush out of here.

“Wait no I like you too. I just was not expecting all that.”

“You do?”

“Yeah why do you think I’m always looking for any excuse to hang out. Or fucking up the scenes were together in. So I can be with you longer.” Bella admits.

“I knew you were doing that shit on purpose.” You smile bashfully shaking your head pretending to be annoyed.

#bella ramsey x you #bella ramsey fluff #bella ramsey #bella ramsey tlou #bella ramsey edit #bella ramsey x reader #bella ramsey imagine #bella ramsey oneshot #bella ramsey pov

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alltherosesinmylungs · 5 months

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Getting Better in May 🎀

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April has not been an easy month. I've been stuck with a lot of self doubts, harmful thoughts, and anxieties. It really felt like I was drowning, and couldn't get myself out of all of it. The past few days have gotten a little better, but I still feel exhausted and need to “get back on track”. This post will list the things I will try to work on in May, in order to (hopefully) get out of that cycle.

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Contents:

1. Mental health 2. Physical health 3. Work 4. Looks (?)

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1. Mental health

· Take my meds every day · Try to meditate every morning · Journal more often (every two or three days at first, but hopefully I can do it everyday) · Try to do mindfulness meditation · Try more hobbies! · Honour my psychologist's appointments

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2. Physical health

· Going for a walk at least two times per week · Stretching every morning · Give pilates a try, maybe? · Don't skip breakfast! · Check my heart rate regularly

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3. Work

· Give the Pomodoro method a try · Sunday and Saturday are rest days · Read at least 30 minutes a day · Write two blog posts during the month · Film, edit and post two videos (at least) during the month

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4. Looks

· Find some cream/oil/mask/I've got no idea if those are different things or whatever. Just something to get a little skincare routine · Clean up my room + give away old clothes · Try some new make-ups · Thrifting store? (Only if I need new clothes, though)

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This list is really just for me, but if some of these things resonate with you, you can of course use it as well, and draw some inspiration from it!

#Getting Better in May 🎀#mental health #girlblogging #girl blogger #life update #life blogging #cutecore #pinkcore #coquette #wellbeing #self care #self love #self improvement #self growth #self healing #pink blog #girl blog aesthetic #pink pilates princess #pink pilates girl

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elliotts-personal-property · 9 months

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I Think I Love You (Joe Elliott x Reader)

A/N: Hey y'all, as promised here's the Joe one shot. Feeling super nervous rn, considering this is the first time I’ve posted my writing on here. I'd love to hear your feedback so I can improve on my writing. I'm open to any and all constructive criticism and encourage it! Anyways… I won't keep stalling for any longer. I hope y’all enjoy this one!!

Warnings: Mentions/references to making out/smut but nothing actually explicit happens.

Ps, if you really want to feel the vibe of this one shot I'd suggest listening to "I Think I Love You" by The Partridge Family while reading this💗

With love, Kris<3

Sheffield, 1982

I'm sleeping

And right in the middle of a good dream

Like all at once I wake up

The poor guy had been tossing and turning all night.

Joe couldn't get his mind off of you.

Just the thought of you disrupted his sleep.

From something that keeps knocking at my brain

In his eyes you were perfect. You were the only girl in the world he wanted. Of course that also meant you were the one girl, who in his eyes, had got away. The one he could never have. Why? Because you were his best friend.

For months upon months he was stuck in this endless cycle.

It went a little something like this:

He'd think about you so much so that he'd convince himself that he had to go tell you.

Then he'd work up the courage to say it.

He'd find the perfect time to confess but then start to reconsider his choice. He always would hold it back when he decided it wasn't a good idea after all.

He'd then go back to thinking about how perfect of a moment it would've been and mentally kick himself for not saying a thing.

And the cycle would repeat.

It went on and on and on.

Before I go insane

As a result of this, he hadn't had a good nights sleep in a while.

That night was different though.

I hold my pillow to my head

Something had finally snapped.

And spring up in my bed

He had known how he felt for a long time. But he had never actually come to terms with the gravity of it.

Screaming out the words I dread

I think I love you

All at once it hit him like a brick wall. He realized he truly loved you.

On the rare occasion that your best friend felt brave he'd indirectly hint at something more. After a while of not getting any knowing looks from you he just assumed that you were oblivious to all of his side comments. You in fact were not.

After a while you started to get impatient with him.

You wanted to shout it out loud, right in his face, "Dear God Joe just ask me out already!"

Recently those side comments from Joe had stopped. You would've said something to him if he hadn't stopped. But now you weren't even sure if he still cared, or if he had just given up and moved on. It would be stupid to lose your friendship over this. So you stayed quiet just to be safe.

It was a shocker to both you and everyone else how you two hadn't gotten together already.

There were so many signs. It was only a matter of time.

This morning

I woke up with this feeling

I didn't know how to deal with

Another night of restless sleep had gone by. It was worse than usual, so much so that by dawn he had already come up with a plan.

He knew what he had to do. He was going to tell you the only way he could. In the only unique love language he knew, through music.

If he was gonna do it, it had to be big and flashy. Joe wouldn't have it any other way.

He couldn't let his feelings lie dormant anymore. No, he thought, this time will be different. This time I won't back out.

And so I just decided to myself

I'd hide it to myself

And never talk about it

He had kept his feelings to himself for the past few years. Joe wanted to tell you, he really did. But in the back of his mind he worried about ruining the relationship you guys already had.

Joe loved you so much that he was willing to hide his feelings just so you wouldn't walk out on his life. He didn't want to lose you over some feelings he had. Ones that he couldn't guarantee you'd reciprocate. So, he believed it was best to keep it to himself.

And did not go and shout it

When you walked into the room

I think I love you

Joe didn't just think, he knew.

Joe was dead set on what he had to do. He just needed to get a few things sorted. First off was getting the guys on board with it.

Joe gathered his closest friends together. They were less like bandmates and more like brothers to him. He knew they would help him out. All it would take was a bit of convincing.

"Can you please help me out?" Joe pleaded.

He assured them about his plan.

"It's just one, and it'll be real quick."

"Alright, fine," the bassist answered for them all, "What song is it anyways?"

Joe told them his song of choice and they all gave him odd looks.

Sav cocked an eyebrow at the song choice.

"The Partridge Family? Are you serious?"

Phil chimed in, "You really think a band like us should be playing a song like that?"

Steve rested his hand on his head, "Everyone's going to make fun of us."

Joe tried to defend his choice, "You know it can't be that bad. We're playing in a pub for god's sake. It's not like the whole world's gonna be there."

The rest of the guys seemed unconvinced.

"Come on guys, you said you'd help me. Please?"

He kept on.

"Just help a bloke out, alright?"

And on.

"Please I promise I'll never ask for anything ever again."

Rick half-whispered to Sav.

"You know he's never gonna let it up. Not until we say yes at least."

Sav knew he was right. Joe wouldn't stop bugging them until they agreed.

"Okay fine, but it's only one song."

Joe nodded enthusiastically, "Mhm yeah, just one."

It was settled, they would help. Now all that was left was to get you there.

I think I love you

So what am I so afraid of?

The thought of telling you was exciting to him, yet terrifying.

I'm afraid that I'm not sure of

A love there is no cure for

His heart raced as he drove over to your place.

I think I love you

Joe was already cheery about just the thought of you going.

Isn't that what life is made of?

He hadn't felt this excited over something in a long time.

As he pulled onto your street he tapped on the steering wheel. It was due to the mix of both the pure joy of excitement and an ever growing anxious feeling that was building up inside.

Though it worries me to say

That I've never felt this way

Believe me

You really don't have to worry

"You'll be there tomorrow, right?"

"Of course," you answered with a wide smile, "You guys go on at eight, right?"

God he loved your smile. It could light up any room.

He melted just looking at you. Anytime you spoke to him he lost all train of thought.

You snapped your fingers to get his attention.

"Joe?"

"Oh- um, yeah. Eight, we'll be on then."

I only wanna make you happy

After you said yes he began going through that same cycle again. He started doubting his whole plan. Wondering if it would work or not.

There was no way he could back out now though. For the past few days they'd been practicing that song, not stopping until Joe felt satisfied with the final product.

He wondered if you would stick around after all of this.

Would you tell him to "beat it" and move on with your life without him? Or would you stay there by his side?

And if you say, "Hey, go away"

I will

Joe crossed his fingers, hoping for the best outcome possible.

But I think better still

I'd better stay around and love you

He was determined to make sure you stayed.

Do you think I have a case?

Let me ask you to your face

Do you think you love me?

Tomorrow night he'd get the long awaited answer to that question.

I think I love you

You arrived early, wanting to make sure you were right up front. This is what you always did. It was your way of showing Joe you cared. You mindlessly tapped your fingers against the small stage, waiting for them to come out.

Meanwhile Joe was there fixing himself up in their tiny dressing room, (if you could even call it one). It was fairly small. The owner had "renovated" one of their small back rooms into a "dressing room".

He stood in front of the vanity mirror fluffing out the rest of his hair. Joe was doing any and everything in his power to keep his mind off of the plan. He looked at his reflection as he told himself to just smile and hope for the best. Whatever happens happens, it was no longer in his control anymore.

After waiting for what felt like forever the guys finally came out on stage. As Joe got on he stopped in front of you and sent you a quick smile before turning his attention to the other patrons of the bar.

You cheered along the whole time as they went through their usual set list. It didn't matter how many times you'd seen them, you were always captivated by their showmanship.

Time always seemed to fly by whenever you watched them play.

By now you had memorized their set list and were almost sure they were closing out now, having just played Wasted. They always saved it for last and were just about ready to leave.

That was before Joe had something to say.

The cheering in the room died down as Joe placed the mic back in its stand. He adjusted it right to his level, getting ready to speak.

"We have one last song for you all tonight. We're gonna take a little change of pace if that's alright with you."

He took a glance around at his bandmates, giving them all a quick nod before adding on.

"This one goes out to a very special someone. Someone who means the world to me."

His eyes drifted down to the people in the front row, moving one by one until eventually landing onto you.

"This is for you, Y/N."

Taking one last deep breath in he calmed himself before counting the guys in.

All of them started in, "Ba, ba ba ba, ba ba ba ba, ba."

You giggled at the ridiculousness of it before fully realizing the gravity of this song.

You knew what it was the second they sung the first line.

You hadn't heard it in such a long time and had practically forgotten about it, forgotten how much you loved it. It was always one of your favorites, and Joe had known that for a while now.

All thoughts completely left your mind when Joe began to sing.

"I'm sleeping,

And right in the middle of a good dream,

Like all at once I wake up,

From something that keeps knocking at my brain,

Before I go insane,

I hold a pillow to my head,

And spring up in my bed,

Screaming out the words I dread."

The rest of the guys joined in on the next line.

"I think I love you!”

This was his confession.

His eyes couldn't help but drift towards you.

"I think I love you."

While preforming Joe tried to keep his attention with the rest of the audience equal, but he kept on letting his eyes go back to you, like some sort of magnet that couldn't be pulled apart.

If him dedicating this song to you wasn't the most obvious thing, you'd say his looks alone were enough to tell you that this was for you.

You couldn't help but feel a smile tugging at your lips. Your cheeks started to feel sore from the excessive smiling.

"So what am I so afraid of?"

Every time his eyes caught yours you felt your heart skip a beat.

"I'm afraid that I'm not sure of a love there is no cure for."

Joe really did care about you, deep down inside he did, he always did.

Soon the song came to a close with their repeated "I think I love you's" becoming more and more quiet as they faded off.

They all came front and center, taking a short bow together as the crowd in the bar cheered them on.

The girl next to you had to have already been out of it.

"You're a lucky girl, huh?" she practically yelled into your ear. You couldn't blame her though, she was standing directly in front of an amplifier the whole time.

It snapped you out of the trance you seemed to have slipped into.

"Oh-uh yeah," you smiled.

"Look," she said, swinging her arm to point at the guys in front of you.

The rest of them were making their way off, leaving through the stage left.

Joe was the last one still up there.

You stayed staring at him in disbelief, not even knowing what to do. He had finally said it... or well sung it, same difference. What was there you could do?

He tilted his head to your right gesturing off to the side of the stage, to what you only could assume led to their dressing room.

He flashed you a quick smile before sending a subtle wink your way.

If it was anybody else, you'd say you were surprised by their actions, but for Joe? Well that's a different story.

With both of her hands the girl next to you latched onto your arm.

"Ooh looks like someone's gettin' some action tonight!"

Your cheeks flushed red and you prayed to god no one else heard.

Immediately you turned to Joe, hoping he hadn't heard the girl's remark.

His eyes darted away from you. Before Joe left you saw him trying to suppress his chuckling, but ultimately failing. His smug smile was the last thing you saw as he walked off the stage.

Of course he had to have heard it, why wouldn’t he?

The girl let go of you when you told her you had to leave. She told you something along the lines of, "Have fun tonight!" before you left.

You went around the corner finding the door that you guessed led backstage. The door was locked from the inside and there was no way of getting in. You didn't worry though, knowing that the guys would come out soon enough.

After a couple minutes of waiting by the door an ecstatic Rick swung it open. The rest of the guys shuffled their way out, but with their lead nowhere in sight.

You turned your attention towards the last member to come out.

"Is he?"

"Third door to the right," Sav answered before you could even finish asking your question.

"Thanks."

He gave you a warm smile, still holding the door open for you, letting you slip through to the back hallway.

"See you in a bit," he said, letting the door shut behind you.

Even though there was no reason to, you counted to yourself as you passed by each of the doors.

One...

Two...

You felt your heart race as you got closer to the last one.

...Three

You stood there for a moment trying to see if you could hear anything on the other side. You didn't and knew it was time to stop stalling.

After taking a deep breath to compose yourself you rested your hand on the cool doorknob.

Here goes nothing.

You slowly opened the door as quietly as you could and after shutting it watched the scene play out before you.

He stood there in front of a vanity mirror facing away from you. He hadn't noticed you but you could see his face clear as day through the reflection.

Joe was humming a tune while brushing his hair. You immediately recognized what song it was.

He was humming the one he had just played. His tone was full of pure joy.

Once he was done he ran his fingers through his hair, trying to shape it some more.

The man in front of you looked fine already but seemed to be getting ready for something more.

He adjusted the collar of his shirt before picking up a small bottle of cologne. Adding just a spray to his neck and one to his wrist before turning around.

Joe's humming abruptly stopped and his eyes widened.

"Oh… you're here?"

You'd been caught staring.

At this point any embarrassment that you could have had got washed away whenever he decided to dedicate that song to you.

"Sorry, I-"

"Don't be," he cut you off.

He set the bottle down and slowly approached you, seeming to take his time with it.

You watched carefully as he took every painfully slow step.

You didn't know where to start, but knew you had to say something.

"You guys were great."

"Thank you."

You had to bring it up, you couldn't bare to wait any longer.

"That song you played. Did you?"

You stopped, taking a quick glance around, noting that it was just the two of you in the room, before finishing.

"Did you really mean that?"

His gaze softened at the question.

"Yes."

He paused before stepping closer, leaving barely any room between the two of you.

"I meant every word of it."

Your heart sped up with every word he spoke.

"Y/N I mean it."

His hand moved up to tuck the loose hair behind your ear.

"I think I love you."

You had been longing to hear those words for such a long time. Never in your lifetime did you think it would happen, but it finally did.

He said that to you, and you only.

After all this time, you heard those three words you loved the most.

"I love you."

His hand moved down to cup the side of your face. You lightly nudged your face against his warm palm. Closing your eyes you took a deep breath in, wanting to smell more of the cologne that rested on his wrist.

When you opened your eyes his hand moved down to carefully tilt your chin up.

Your eyes faced him now.

"I love you too."

This was the moment. The moment you waited forever for.

Heart racing and eyes wide you both slowly drew in closer. It felt like the longest seconds of your life, waiting for him to connect with you.

You looked into his emerald green eyes before letting yours flutter closed.

Soon enough you felt the feather light touch on your lips. It felt like heaven to you.

You brought one hand up, letting you fingers run through his light brown hair.

You felt Joe's other hand reach down to the small of your back, gently pulling you closer into him.

All you could do now was relax your body and take in the overwhelming smell of his cologne.

After what felt like an eternity, the two of you finally pulled away from one another. You already missed the feeling of his soft lips on yours.

You refused to back up from him, leaving hardly any gap between you two.

His warm breath fell on your lips as he mumbled, "You don't know how long I've wanted this."

"Me too."

Joe's hands dropped down and his fingers latched onto the belt loops of your jeans before lightly tugging at them, pulling you closer.

Your hips were pulled forward and you lightly bumped against him before falling back and resting mere inches from him.

Joe's eyes quickly scanned over your face as if he was looking for a cue of some sort.

Though you had never seen this look on him before, you knew exactly what it meant.

"Please Y/N."

That short plea was more than enough to get you going.

Your arms almost instinctively wrapped around his neck, letting him know you were okay with it.

"Come on," he said, slightly lowering himself to reach the back of your legs. He lifted you up and stepped back to sit in the armchair placed in front of the mirror

Your legs were pinned close on either side of him, resting between his outer thighs and the arms of the chair.

Without warning the two of you crashed into each other once more, desperate for each other's touch.

He hummed into the kiss, making you relish in the feeling he gave you.

You didn't know exactly how much time had gone by, but you knew a decent amount had passed.

Slowly, you drew away from his neck and let out a shaky breath, still wanting more. It had now been a little while since you first got in there and you knew it would only be a matter of seconds until someone barged in looking for two of you.

Your eye contact with him continued as you calmed your breathing.

Lightly pushing yourself away, resting your hands on his stomach, you finally spoke up.

"We should go. They're pry wondering what's taking so long."

Joe thought about it for a second. Seemingly weighing the pros and cons of both staying and going.

"Who cares? Let 'em wonder."

You planted one last quick kiss before making an offer.

"How about later, yeah?"

A wicked smile spread across his face, already thinking of what was to come, "Yeah."

You pulled yourself off of him and tried to fix the newfound wrinkles in your clothes. After getting up he did the same and you stayed there fixing yourselves up.

Just as the two of you were about to walk out you stopped him.

"Wait."

He turned to you.

"You’ve got a little…," you trailed off as you brought your thumb up to the corner of his mouth.

"Something," you finished as you wiped the last bit of red lipstick off of him.

Feeling content with how the two of you looked, you set off out of the dressing room and back down the hallway.

He held the door open for you and led you out into the main room.

You both scanned your eyes around the bar floor trying to find the guys.

Joe grabbed onto your hand and held on as he guided you through the crowd. He led you over to the round booth where they were all seated. As you approached the booth he gave your hand a light squeeze before letting go.

It took only one glance at the you two for the teasing to start.

"Woah!" Phil exclaimed, "What happened in there?"

"Nothing," Joe replied making his best attempt at a deadpan tone.

"You sure about that?"

The rest joined in on by adding "ooohs," sounding exactly like a group of kids in elementary who just found out one of their classmates was called into the principals office.

This was only the beginning of the never ending teasing that was to come.

Phil raised his eyebrows, "Just couldn't wait until you got home, huh?"

Joe rolled his eyes at his bandmates teasing.

Sure you had been gone for a bit, but you knew there had to have been something else causing their reactions.

You looked between yourself and Joe quickly noticing the culprit.

Though you had made sure to get all your lipstick off his face you forgot to check the collar of his shirt. The sloppy kisses had caused you to completely miss his neck in some spots and just get his shirt. The shirt in question being a white one didn't help your case.

There was no sense in trying to rub it off now, and not like you could anyways.

Rick and Sav scooted around to make room for you and Joe.

As you sat down you both noticed all the other guys were already starting their night off with their drinks in hand.

Joe looked around at each and every one of them, "You started without us, aye?”

"We waited for a little while, but you guys took too long," Sav replied.

Joe turned to face you, "How 'bout a round?"

You smiled, "Sure."

Thank you so much for reading!! I hope you liked it💗

#joe elliott x reader #def leppard x reader #works by elliotts-personal-property #kris’ writing #joe elliott fanfiction #def leppard fanfiction #joe elliott #def leppard

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munsonsreputation · 1 year

Text

I THINK THERES BEEN A GLITCH

CHAPTER FOUR: WHAT'S IN OUR SYSTEM

↢ chapter three | series masterlist | chapter five ↣

🎧 soundtrack

steve harrington x fem!baker + artist

word count: [12K]

warnings: no use of y/n, talks / mentions of mental spiral, fluff overload (everyone buckle up and prepare to be mush by the end)

summary: you and steve find yourselves entangled in something else besides your feelings. all of the fun things — skin and bones, breakfast and laughter, goodbyes and hellos. it’s dizzying, like a drug that flows your systems and should have the both of you wondering if it’s in any of your best interests. it’s not worth denying or thinking other wise… you both know you’ve made promises, now it’s up to you both to keep them.

It’s the same room and the same bed Steve had been spending most of his life sleeping in. Worn out and faded gray bed sheets that were long overdue to be replaced and pillows that lost their fluffiness years ago. His bed was nothing special, just the place where he would burrow under after all his hardest days and battles.

But these days his bed was just a place of hiding — somewhere he would go to in order to pass time hoping he could seek comfort even when he knew he couldn’t.

He’d lay and stare up at the ceiling waiting for his parents to drive off so he could finally go down and make himself some food without being victim to a lengthy lecture.

He’d even bunch up the blankets, using them to cover his ears and drown out his parents arguing, which was usually over something so stupid that could’ve been solved with a simple ‘sorry’ or if one of them finally kept quiet and let the other speak.

He managed to master the art of forcing himself to fall asleep so he could escape it, but it always seemed to follow him in his dreams… all the pent up anxiety about the future and how scared he was that he’d turn out just like his parents.

Stuck in the cycle and forcing everyone to walk on eggshells around him.

It was only really a comfortable bed when they weren’t around, but it didn’t mean that it wasn’t lonely.

Hearing absolute silence was just as torturous as hearing his mom and dad fight.

A beautiful home, fully furnished that housed the picture perfect family only for it to be amounted to a place that didn’t feel like home at all. What a waste of space that had so much potential for a joyous family to actually live and create memories in. All it was now was filled with loneliness and nightmares.

But there were always those rare occasions where he could dream up a life that didn’t feel so lonely. A place with someone who he cherished and who felt like home to him — more than any furniture or square footage could make him feel.

Last night was one of those nights and only this time he realized it wasn’t a dream.

Through his sluggish eyes, he could still see the indentation in the shape of you from the night before. The little details of the way your arms had laid against the sheets and how your body shifted during the night. Your… his pillow etched with the silhouette of your head and your hair that sprawled over it.

The covers were partly thrown off to the side with you nowhere to be found. And as Steve weakly drew them up just to steal two more minutes of the morning warmth, he was greeted with a big waft of everything you.

The two minutes in bed didn’t seem enticing anymore. He just wanted to get to you now.

Vanilla filling his senses and coaxing his eyes wide awake.

Jasmine brightened up his energy as he made the bed.

Sweet peaches calmed his limbs as he stared at himself in the bathroom mirror and got himself freshened up for the day.

It should’ve worried him, the way that you could’ve called Nance and have her bring you to Joyce and Hop’s to get your car and head home. Leaving him without saying goodbye or talking about what happened last night. But the anxiety didn’t seem to run through his veins when it came to you or this… he felt safe and tranquil knowing you were still here.

You had put his mind at ease, promising you would be.

Last night he emerged from the bathroom, bare chested with a pair of sweatpants hanging low on his waist. His room was ill-lit, drapes blocking out most of the moonlight, letting only his weak lamp gleam up the corner of the bedroom.

You were already settled and comfortable, fast asleep in his bed. Covers brought up to your shoulders and your knees tucked up, curled like a baby snoozing soundly — or so Steve thought.

He smiled at the sight, content to know that at least you found his bed to be peaceful enough to sleep in. One hand came down to pull the covers up higher over you to keep you warm through the night. His palm lingering over your collarbone, watching and feeling you breathe in and out softly… the memory ingrained in his mind forever now.

“Night, sweet thing.”

It was a muted murmur, the last thing he was supposed to say before he switched off the light and headed downstairs to take the couch, but you had responded.

“Stay,” you stirred softly, shifting against the blankets as you picked up a throaty chuckle. Steve huffing out something about how you almost scared him to death.

But he grinned a tiny bit, crouching down to move the damp strands of hair that covered your cheeks. “You’ve been up this whole time?” he asked quietly, not wanting to invade the tranquil space.

“Mhm,” you crooned, peeping open your eyes to see him through your doziness.

His hair was still wet, itty-bitty beads of water sprinkling his exposed shoulders and the furs on his chest. He looked refreshed, but it was clear that he needed to get some much needed rest.

“We can share the bed, tonight,” you said faintly, bringing one of your hands up from beneath the covers to wrap around his wrist, “please?”

He swore you could feel his pulse in your touch, not that he minded. It felt so raw and so real different from anything he’s ever felt before. Everything about it felt almost sacred, like something out of his wildest dreams just feeling like he was needed by someone when he knew deep down it was him needing you all this time.

“Okay.” He nodded without faltering. He was met with you smiling sleepily at him, finally letting up on his wrist while you moved over to make space for him.

The lamp clicked off, cascading the room with complete darkness as he pulled back the covers and got in beside you. He was careful, putting a few inches between the both of you not knowing if closing it was something you were comfortable with.

“You can come closer,” you whispered quietly, letting your fingertips skim over his arm, letting him know he was alright to do so.

It was almost like second nature, his body drifting closer to you as you closed the remaining millimeters and draped your arms over his. You were like a bear clinging to him, yearning for his warmth and he was pleased to provide it to you on nights like this and forever, for that matter.

“Comfortable?” He chuckled bemused, looking down and seeing your head smushed under his pillow, seeking the proximity the same way he was.

“Extremely.” You sighed contently, breathing him in as your eyes fluttered shut.

Steve’s bed would never be the same, and it’s a sudden pang in his heart when he realized it because now you’ve turned it into a sacred oasis that he never wants to leave.

He swallowed nervously, letting his thumb trace circles over your shoulder. “I’m happy you’re here.”

“Me too…very very happy.” You replied sleepily, letting your head nod against his skin letting the sleep consume you.

Steve didn’t want to ruin the moment, to sound desperate when you were trying to fall asleep and so should he. But he just had to ask… to make sure this wasn’t all in his head even when it was so delicate already.

“Will you be here in the morning?” His voice was shaky, trying to keep it stable and composed.

You didn’t waste another second, more awake than ever, as you opened your eyes and smiled up at him.

“I promise.”

That night there wasn’t any silence or his parents fighting — no agonizing sounds keeping him from feeling like this wasn’t a holy place. It was your breathing, gentle inhales and exhales as he watched your chest rise, wondering if you were dreaming about him. With each passing second that he listened to your breathing, taking it in like a lullaby to his ears, he let his eyes float closed, drawing him somewhere where it was just you and him.

His footsteps echoed on the wooden stairs that he jogged down, turning towards the living room and into the kitchen where he was met with your back facing him.

You were still dressed in his clothes, a pair of striped boxer shorts rolled over your waistline and an old faded Hawkins track team t-shirt — they both looked better on you than it ever did him.

His cheeks rose, lips tugging into a smile as he approached you. His arms rested on either side of the counter, caging you in, “morning, early bird.”

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” you teased with a giggle, leaning into the peck that he pressed on your cheek before turning to him and frowning deceptively. He looked almost worried, like he might have done something wrong, but then you broke into a grin.

“I was gonna bring you breakfast in bed.” You admitted, turning your head to the dining table where you had already prepared some cut up fruit in a bowl with a side of honey and yogurt you found in the fridge.

He ruined your surprise, yet didn’t feel an ounce of regret. Instead, his heart flocked with fever, blood rushing, and his cheeks beginning to grow sore with how much broader he was smiling now.

Breakfast in bed? An actual meal and not just a piece of toast slathered in peanut butter… not that he would ever mind if you brought him that because he’d eat anything you’d give him. But this just feels other worldly.

“That’s sweet,” he replied appreciatively, letting the smile linger on his face because he was quite sure he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to — all of this was just too much for his heart to handle, “but you could’ve slept in, I wouldn’t have minded at all.”

He’d skip breakfast if it meant he got to lie awake in the morning sunlight and watch you dream until you woke. But he also wouldn’t want to pass out on this, the sweetness of the moment with you being here and doing this for him when you didn’t have to.

You shrugged, setting down the whisk you were using for the pancake batter and letting your arms wrap around his neck, stretching yourself into him in a hug. He doesn’t hesitate to wrap you up in his arms, cradling your back and pulling you closer.

“I wanted to… felt right.” Your words springing against his skin like a million tiny kisses.

Right there in that moment, everything felt right.

He pulled back just enough to see you, a pout playing on your lips not being able to hide away in his neck. “Well, at least let me help. I can make a mean scrambled egg.” He smirked, wiggling his brow as you glanced up at him and giggled.

You rested your chin on his chest, keeping your orbs on him, and you’re sure you looked a mess.

Hair still a little tangled within the hideous bun you tossed it up into this morning. And your face looking dull not having the chance to give it a proper wash and moisturize with your beloved products waiting at your apartment.

You shouldn’t feel your best, but all of those silly insecurities don’t seem to matter, not when Steve is looking at you with fondness in his eyes, like he’s done it a million times before. Taking you in like you’re the sunshine and he’s the flora, leaves eager to soak you in and bask in your rays for as long as you’d let him.

Nothing about this feels weird or nerve racking. If anything, it feels comfortable, like home. A kind of familiarity the two of you just decided to lie in together.

Finally, after all the morning ogling, you answer him. “I’d be a fool to pass out on it, Chef Harrington.”

You tapped your fingertips along the back of his neck and he laughed at the feeling, tucking his chin down and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “On it.”

Steve has moved around this kitchen many times before. He’s not the best cook in the world, almost cuts his fingers off every time he tries to finely chop ingredients or nearly burns himself with how hot he lets the pan get. But he knows how to cook food that tastes good and keeps him fed.

But you… you moved around his kitchen like it’s the waltz and you made it look effortless. The way you strode from the cabinets in search of something, eyes lighting up when you found the brown sugar and hugging it to your chest as you stepped back to grab a small bowl. You poured a teeny serving in, rolling the bag shut and striding back to put it where you found it.

You took the gooey eggshells from his hands as you swept past him, discarding them into the trash and giving your hands a wash under the tap before you dried them on a towel resting on the counter. Then you’re back at the stove, peppering a light dust of brown sugar over the raw pancake batter and giving them a flip.

It’s as if you rehearsed it — the rise and fall of every movement you make and how you make the space feel alive even in the early hours. It’s an addicting sight, like something Steve wants to watch over and over again in real time… but only, there are eggs in his pan and he’d be damned if he would mess up the first thing he’s ever cooked for you.

“What’s that for?” Steve cleared his throat with a cough, tearing his eyes from you and turning them towards the stove.

You hummed, facing him and observing how he pulled the raw eggs towards the center of the pan with the spatula. He’s focused — you’re about to have the best scrambled eggs of your life and the slight tip he gives the pan proves it to you.

“It gives them a little crust with some sweetness. That way, you don’t have to use too much syrup and it doesn’t get soggy by the time you’re done cooking them all.” You told him.

“And where’d you learn that?” He asked, taking his eyes off the pan and bringing them straight to yours.

Your shoulders bounced, bottom lip moving over your top one. “Nowhere specific, kinda just experimented, and it worked!”

Steve should’ve known… you’re far better in the kitchen than he is and he’d take all your advice, self taught or read in a cookbook.

“Smart girl.” He complimented with a coy smile as you grinned before you both turned back to the dishes.

The next seven minutes were spent with Steve plating the eggs and you forming a stack of brown sugar pancakes on top of one another. He worked on setting the table, grabbing extra napkins to get close by and making sure you both had clean glasses.

Even when you weren’t at home, you were always trying to be a good host. This time finding yourself in his fridge, moving bottles and containers over as if it would help you find something that wasn’t there.

“Are you sure you don’t want orange juice? I swear I could juice some right now!” You called out, eyeing the fresh fruits that sat in the produce drawer.

Steve barked out a laugh, head shaking, when you turned your head over your shoulder to see him. His eyes pointed to the table, the empty seat that was yours waiting for you. “Stop it! Water is fine… just come to the table, please.”

You huffed defeatedly with phony annoyance, strolling to the table with nothing in hand as Steve already grabbed you both a fresh cup of cold water. He made a scene, pretending to bow as he dramatically dragged your chair out for you while you covered your face and snickered behind them. You took a seat and even let him push you in.

The both of you opt to side by side instead of face to face — it was more comfortable and special that way, even when your knees occasionally bumped under the table.

“Thanks for doing this for me,” Steve spoke suddenly, grasping your wrist and holding it gently.

He said it like you didn’t use all of his groceries and made a mess of his kitchen. Like you were doing him a favor, something he didn’t deserve, when all you wanted to do was show him how much he deserved all the special moments of life, even homemade breakfast.

You grinned timidly, swinging your head as your other hand rested on top of his, rubbing your thumb across his knuckles. “It’s really no problem. You did let me spend the night and take your bed.”

His face fell with feign skepticism. “Technically, we shared,” he countered with a lifted brow.

You rolled your eyes, clicking your tongue. “Okay, yeah, but still! I wanted to do this…really really wanted to do this for you.”

Steve could read between the lines, understanding where you were getting at without actually saying it.

How yesterday the mental spiral had taken a toll on him even after you promised you would spend the night at his. He was particularly quiet, keeping to himself and not having the energy to do much talking, but you didn’t mind, frequently turning to him and offering a comforting glimpse, rubbing a tender hand over his shoulder to ease his nerves.

You didn’t make him feel like there was something wrong with him or try to force him into the conversations when he didn’t want to. Instead, you let him be and made it clear that everything was alright. That you would be there when he felt lost and scared, even if he striked out and had to crawl back home.

He shouldn’t have turned the night he was anticipating into a long road of catastrophic blues. The words the kids had said without thinking should’ve bounced off of him like nothing. But instead he spent the night beside you wondering if how he was feeling was a mistake, if it was really all in his head the way he thought it was, or maybe how wrong and selfish it was to ask you to stay the night.

The whirlwind of uncertainty floating away when you grabbed his hand from under the table and gave it three squeezes when no one was paying attention. It was then and there that he knew you didn’t have any plans to leave… at least not without him.

All of that was true, seeing as though you were here in front of him.

He smiled kindly, eyes full of gratitude for you taking the time to do this for him even if it meant you missed out a few more minutes of sleep. Soon he’d find a way to make it up to you, but he wasn’t quite sure if anything he did would top this.

The two of you plated yourselves some food, digging in and enjoying one another’s presence in the early morning air that enveloped you both. And as per usual, Steve wasn’t subtle when it came to something you’ve made yourself. His fork clinked against the plate after he took a bite of the pancakes, throwing his head back on the chair and moaning loudly as he chewed.

“You’re a dork!” You chided, shaking your head as you laughed and slapped a hand over your mouth.

His head lifted up slightly, patting his bare stomach and giving it a rub. “That’s incredible, you’ve gotta trademark that or something.”

“I don’t think I could trademark food, can I?” Your eyes narrowed, thinking if that was a possibility because it didn’t sound bad.

He shrugged, sitting up straight and cutting himself another piece. “No clue, but you should try it. This is better than the boxed stuff,” he said, popping the fork into his mouth.

“It’s not too tricky, I could teach you how to make the batter from scratch next time?” You offered with a warm smile, eyes showing how genuine you really were about it.

He smiled tightly, nodding his head and speaking with a half full mouth making you grin. “I’d keep the recipe a secret… promise.”

Like something alike, you wanted to keep him a secret, and you’d be his if he let you.

But it would be a shame for either of you to be each other’s secret. Neither of you wanted to hide the other away from the world — far from that, actually.

He’d shout it from the rooftops and you’d paint it in the skyline — how special you both were to each other even after this short time. Have you both known each other for twenty seconds or twenty years?

Neither of you knew nor did you care because all that mattered was the lifetime you wanted to spend together like this. How this morning and last night felt so easy, as if you’ve spent the night in each other’s arms and woke up in them in some past life before.

Time was funny, but you and Steve never minded, not when this kind of feeling was soaring through your systems at an alarming pace.

The table was quiet for a few minutes, just the forks running against the ceramic and tolerable chewing. The two of you were stealing glances at each other when he was too busy spooning yogurt into his mouth and when you stared out the window watching the birds fly by.

Steve dredged his fingers clean, propping his elbow on the table as he watched you pick up the ice cold glass of water and finally tear your eyes away from the window to catch him.

“How do you like Joyce and Hop?” He proposed, not getting the chance to ask you last night before you both went to bed.

You gulped down the water, eyes lighting up. “Oh, they’re wonderful! They were really welcoming and made me feel right at home.”

He wasn’t surprised at all; he knew they’d love you and you’d love them — Hop and Joyce practically talked your ear off and you seemed to enjoy it quite a bit, grateful that they were keen on getting to know you better without making you feel like you were being interrogated.

“Hopper didn’t bore you with his do-it-yourself kitchen renovation stories?” He questioned with a chuckle, reliving the vile conversation that came up during the dinner.

You scrunched your nose, catching his drift right away and your shoulders shuddering a bit. “I could’ve gone without knowing he found a huge rat in the walls, but at least now I know if I need an exterminator I could give him a call.”

“Trust me, he would have way too much fun going around and looking for things to fix.” He warned with no actual malice, just preparing you for the dad-mode Hop would be in if the occasion ever arose.

You snapped your finger as if you remembered something.

“Like the lock Max picked! It was pretty impressive, but I think it’s also a major safety issue.” Your voice falling with the realization.

He furrowed his brows, dropping his chin from his fists, face painted with worry and confusion. “Wait, Max picked your lock? When was this?”

“Oh, Robin didn’t tell you?” he shook his head, watching you sit up, “they stopped by that morning after you left and I guess I forgot to set my alarm and they were waiting outside in the hot sun so Max picked the lock to get in.”

You revealed the situation like it was totally normal for them to be breaking and entering. Meanwhile, Steve’s head was whirling with fear at how easy your lock must have been to pick if they managed to get in even after he was sure he locked it from the inside before he left.

He would definitely tell you later to get the locks changed for safety purposes.

Steve let out an exasperated sigh, letting his shoulders slump with disappointment. “I swore I told her to stop doing that.”

You lifted your brow suspiciously. “Did she pick your lock?”

“Worse.” He groaned, pinching his eyes shut at the memory from a few months ago. “She picked the lock to the arcade just after closing so she could beat Dustin’s high score on Dig Dug.”

You gasped, eyes widened slightly, and a laugh caught midway through your chest. “Did she get caught?” You asked partly stifled, not believing she could actually get away with it.

But he shook his head, further surprising you and somehow your eyes got larger, watching as he mimed her actions.

“She went to the back room and deleted the security camera footage before leaving. That’s when Robin and I closed up Family Video and caught her trying to leave out the backdoor.”

“What happened after?” You leaned in closer, waiting for the continuation of the story.

He lifted his hand in a dismissive manner, lips pursing accompanied with a playful tone in his voice, “Oh you know, classic lecture and threats of taking her to Hopper—”

You didn’t look convinced, narrowing your eyes. “She wasn’t scared at all was she?”

“Not one bit,” he deadpanned before smiling defeatedly, “she asked me to give her a ride home and gave Robin a stuffed animal she stole from the backroom.”

“You know she could make a stealthy spy.” You pointed your fork at him before stabbing a piece of apple on its prongs.

He crossed his arms across his chest and sneered, “Oh trust me, she does enough snooping… alllll of the kids do.”

“But they’re all really sweet. They probably all have good intentions and just might have questionable ways of going about it.”

He knew you were right, and yesterday was a prime example of that.

The kids meant well just trying to get him to finally fess up his feelings that had been harboring since the moment he laid eyes on you. Their goal was never to send Steve into such a mental spiral that it caused him to combust internally and detach for the rest of the night. It would be unfair of him to ever think that of them because it was far from what they were.

They all were good kids, cared about each other and wanted the best for everyone they loved, especially him. They all knew how much Steve sacrificed for them, plenty of times of almost getting fired for giving out free ice cream and letting them off the hook for returning their tapes late.

It was about time that they helped Steve in the only way they knew how, which was trying to encourage him to make a move on the girl of his dreams, and they had no idea it would have ended up like that.

He felt like an asshole for the way he acted towards them. They were young and just wanted to see him happy, but instead they saw him moody and petulant.

You didn’t miss the way his eyes glazed over, sitting stiffly in the dining chair instead of the relaxed way he was just moments ago. You reached out a hand, setting it on his forearm and letting it move and up and down.

“Are you okay, Stevie?”

He blinked, instantly melting back into the relaxed state once your touch was on his. A half smile quirking up on the corner of his lips, thankful for your concern and quickness.

“Thought I told you not to worry about me?”

Your concern faded slightly, a warm glint in your eye now. “Thought I told you I would, anyway.”

“I’m never gonna win, am I?” He frowned sarcastically, watching as your hand fell back to the table.

“Nope! Now, what’s on your mind?” You ordered, shifting your body to face him fully with your knees settling against his.

You looked determined to figure it out and try to help him. To get into his mind and kick those worries away. Your elbows resting on your thighs as you kept your eyes on him, patiently waiting until he was ready.

He ran a rough palm over his face, wriggling his shoulders. “Just thinking about how stupid I acted at the party last night. Felt like a ghost with how quiet I was.”

“You didn’t act stupid at all,” your voice filled with confidence while you shook your head, “you just needed a little break and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I felt like an asshole.” His voice trailed off with annoyance with himself.

“Don’t say that,” you pouted, poking his chest with a disapproving look on your face. “You’re not an asshole.”

He always found it endearing, your ability to always see the best in him, even when he knew he wasn’t at his best. Usually Steve’s always upbeat when it came to the friends and the kids, he’s known to be the friendliest of them all, but last night he felt far from that. As if he was the stranger sitting at the table lost in his own thoughts.

“You sure?” He asked like you’d ever lie to make him feel better.

You chuckled, nodding undoubtedly. “I’ve encountered a few assholes in my life and you’re waaaay off from one. You’re like the most non-asshole guy I’ve ever met.”

“Yeah?” This time a twinge of playfulness came with the question.

Nodding obviously, you leaned closer to him, your face hanging only inches away from his.

“A guy who memorizes a girl’s coffee order and picks up her favorite pastries when she’s far from a morning person?” Your lips curled into a smile. “I’m positive you’re not an asshole.”

Like a force of habit, his palm cradled your cheek, while you continued to stare up at him like he hadn’t been thinking so horribly about himself just moments ago. He was getting lost in your eyes; the ones filled with so much devotion and softness for the moment and how even this is enough for him.

“What if I just so happened to steal that cronut recipe?” He mumbled just clear enough for you to hear.

You pushed back against his touch, cheek rising suspiciously in the palm of his hand. “Why? Are you hiding it from me? Because if you are, then that’s cruel!”

A dimpled smile broke out on his face, closing his eyes blissfully and swinging his head no. There’s laughter erupting from you and he could feel it in the way the apple of your cheeks leaped against his palm. You didn’t shy away from his hand, letting yourself stick to him like the sweetest honey, and he didn’t care about the mess.

The real mess was whatever was in your systems.

He finally spoke. “No, but I know a stealthy spy who could help me break in and get it.”

You rolled your eyes, tongue in cheek. “You’re trouble, Harrington.”

The pulse point on his wrists felt your lips before he could comprehend what was happening. Your plush skin grazing his skin lightly, a kind of kiss that felt electrifying even when it wasn’t upon his own lips. It’s innocent yet still all around tantalizing, the urge to tell you that he’s crazy for you on the tip of this tongue more than ever now.

He was sure before that he’d go through all the trouble if it meant making you happy, but now he’s positive he’d even break into a family-owned establishment to get you that secret recipe – and most importantly, to feel you like this every morning.

His pulse was undeniably thumping against your lips, though you didn’t mind, letting them stay for a minute until the phone abruptly rang and you were tearing away from his hold, ripping yourself from him like a bandaid that took the skin with it. His wrist began to feel lonely, pulse feeling like it’s dying out not having you there anymore.

To your surprise, you weren’t feeling at all embarrassed, simply just giddy as he cursed apologetically and let his hand fall into his lap as he got up. “I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be right here!” You vowed, tipping your head back to watch as he left the kitchen.

It was only seven in the morning and he never got calls this early. Ever. Unless it was the kids.

“Hello,” he answered, pressing the hunk of plastic to his ear.

“Hey, kid,” it was Hopper, “how are, umm, you and the girl?”

Steve peeked back into the kitchen, seeing you finishing up the rest of the cut up fruit. “We’re having breakfast right now. What’s up?”

“Honey! They’re already having breakfast!” Hop called out, sound a bit far away.

“Crap!” Joyce wailed out in the background.

Steve laughed, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Sorry. If you would’ve called half an hour ago, we’d still be in bed.”

“You guys shared the bed?” Hop inquired, his voice accusing and curious at the same time.

“Well… yeah.” Steve didn’t have any reason to lie, but he was regretting it the second it left his mouth.

“Soooo… s’that why you both left early yesterday?” Hop suggested, sounding more interested in conversing now.

Steve turned away from the adjoining wall, cupping his hand over the receiver as he spoke sharply. “What? No! We left early because I was crabby and she was getting tired.”

A puff of air came from the other end, Hoppers laugh heavy. “You know you don’t have to lie—”

“Oh my god, I’m hanging up, now.” Steve’s fingers were ready to press the hook switch to end the call.

“Tell your girl I checked her tire pressure and added some air into her back left wheel, thing was nearly deflated.”

“Yeah okay, appreciate it. We’ll be there in a few.”

There’s talking in the background, he could hear Joyce saying something and Hopper attempting to cut her off with ‘yeah’s’ and ‘got' it’s.’

“And Joyce says she’ll save some breakfast sandwiches.” Hop grumbles.

“Okay, thanks, bye.” Steve said rushed, pulling the phone away from his ear.

He placed the phone back onto the rest, shaking his head a bit at the teasing he often faced from Hopper, but it was all in good fun. At times, he felt that Hop and Joyce were more like parents to him than his own. Hell, they knew more about his life than his parents ever did.

“Who was that?”

He took a seat beside you again. “Hop. I think Joyce made him call to ask if we wanted some breakfast.”

“Oh no, I hope she didn’t go through too much trouble.”

Steve shook his head, reassuring you. “She said she’d save us breakfast sandwiches for when we go and get your car.”

“That’s sweet of her.” You bubble, a smile replacing how apologetic you feel for missing out on her breakfast.

“And Hop said to tell you he checked your tire pressure and filled the back left one up with air.” Steve informed you, watching the way your eyes filled with appreciation and surprise.

“Oh my god, he’s the best! How much do I owe him?”

You’re a lot of things — talented, kind, beautiful, all around down to Earth, but you don’t know much about cars and he doesn’t blame you because they’re boring, but he now realized he can never let you walk into an auto shop alone and let you be victim to those premium air scams.

“Nothing, sweetheart. The air is free, and he just uses a special machine to fill it up.”

“But it must have taken him forever.” You protest with a deep breath, determination behind your voice like you’re sure of it and you want to compensate the old guy.

Steve’s face softened, moving over to clutch your hand and give it a squeeze. “He takes longer to pick up donuts and head into work. Filling up tires is easy peasy for him, I promise you.”

“You sure?” You bit your lip still feeling a bit bad for Hop going out of his way.

He nodded, giving your hand another squeeze. “Positive.”

“Did he say anything else?”

“Just curious as to why we left early last night. Told him I was crabby, and you were getting sleepy.”

“I wasn’t that tired.” You mumbled.

Steve scoffed, forehead creasing up because you clearly didn’t see yourself how he saw you last night. “Sweetheart, your eyes drooping on the drive home.”

“No, they weren’t!” You half-laughed in defense, palms resting on the table.

“You fell asleep so quickly last night.” He pointed, roaring at the way you gave in and blushed.

“I was just really comfortable.” You whined, lifting your eyes away from his in an attempt to stop yourself from looking like a dork.

“Yeah, you looked super comfortable. You were even snoring a little.”

You shrieked, a small scream coming from your throat and hands covering your face. “Was I?” God, that’s embarrassing!”

He wrapped his fingers around your wrists, working them away from your face without any resistance. Your eyes met with his smile and headshake. “No, it was cute! You’re just lucky you fell asleep first because had you not my snoring would’ve kept you up.”

“I think I’d be able to fall asleep either way. It was so comfy.”

What you really meant to say was that he’s comfy — practically was your space heater and human pillow. You would be a liar if you didn’t think that you were a bit too clingy last night, but he didn’t seem to mind from what you remembered and it felt nice not having to apologize for that. You know Steve would’ve told you if he didn’t like it; he was always honest with you.

“Would it be okay if I had another shower before we leave?” You watched him stack the plates, getting up and walking them over to the sink.

“Course! Go and I’ll take care of the dishes.” He replied, taking the bowls you had stacked from your hands.

You willingly handed them over, following him to the counters. “No, c’mon let me dry and you can wash,” attempting to reach into the drawers to retrieve a clean kitchen towel.

But he blocked you, keeping his hip attached to the wood. “No, go on and shower. I’m not moving till your butt is walking upstairs.”

You both knew he wouldn’t relent, not like the first time you’d stepped into his home and insisted you helped gather plates and cutlery. Things were different now, with time grew comfortability, but also playfulness and ease.

“Fine!” you fussed, trudging away dramatically.

“Did you need to borrow clothes?” He called out, arms folded over his chest as he watched you.

You halted near the doorway, spinning and wrapping your arms round the frame, smiling stupidly at him. “Please? I would use my clothes, but they still smell like charcoal.”

“Pick whatever you want, and leave the dirty ones in the hamper. I’ll do a load before we leave.”

“Thanks! You’re the best!” You singsonged, making your way up the stairs leaving him with the biggest love sick smile on his face.

The Harrington house has never felt this homey and for Steve it’s a feeling that he never wants to fleet. His fists running under lukewarm water scrubbing dishes that weren’t only used by him but by someone whom he wanted to stay with. The lip print you had left around the cusp of the glass, suds away, and he wondered when was the next time you’d be coming around.

Clean dishes pile onto the kitchen rag you laid out before you went to shower. He decided to let them air dry instead, making better use of his time by heading upstairs and grabbing the hamper of dirty laundry filled with both yours and his clothes.

Strolling down the hallway, he heard the sound of the running water in the shower accompanied by your hums to a tune he couldn’t pick up from behind the wooden door. Though it doesn’t fail to make him smile, pleased that you felt so comfortable at his place already. Turning into his bedroom, he fetched the laundry basket, twisting back around to head downstairs towards the washing machine.

Steve had never put much thought into actually taking the time to do separate loads of laundry, honestly just sticking everything in one wash and throwing them in the dryer as any other person would do. He was guilty, a few times some of his white t-shirts would dye a bright green from his work vest but they were replaceable.

It’s only then when your clothes are in his care that he takes the time to read the labels to make sure he’s washing them properly. Your floral long sleeve, safe to wash along with the rest of the other garments. But he doesn’t risk it with the denim overalls, deciding that it’s best for them to have its own cycle to prevent it from fading too much and wearing the material down.

A hefty scoop of detergent goes in with the wash before he clicks start, and the whirling begins.

Your fingers reached for the lotion bottle that sat on his bathroom counter, pumping a dollop into your palm and spreading it across your damp skin. Though it’s unscented, it still smelled like Steve, a hint of him layering itself over the body wash you just used in his shower a moment ago. When the two are paired together, it’s a reminder that you didn’t wash away his touch from last night or this morning, but now you felt like you were reapplying it like a second layer of skin.

You worked the tan buttons that lined the front placket through the buttonholes, leaving the first two undone for a more casual feel, letting it droop down one of your shoulders. Another pair of his boxer shorts, this time light blue colored, rolled up over your hips to fit snuggly.

Running your hands down your sides, you took a deep breath in the mirror, satisfied with the way you looked despite the slouchy fit to the oversized garments. You liked the way you looked in Steve's clothes, no matter how baggy they were on you.

“Let me fix…this,” you complained to yourself, motioning around your head before tugging your hair out of the bun and letting it fall down your back.

Your fingers worked through the roots, giving them a bit of volume while the other brushed the ends, untangling some of the knots. You sectioned your hair in half, keeping the top half in a little bun in the back of your head while the bottom half flowed down nicely.

Grabbing your damp towel off the counter, you hung it on the rack before hitting the light switch off and opening the door.

“Oops, sorry!” You yelped, running smack dab into Steve’s side as he walked by.

He tsked at himself, immediately stabilizing you by the shoulders. “Oh, shit, sorry,” he paused, the two of you laughing now before he looked down and realized what you were wearing. “Woah, you look nice.”

Your fingers played with the sleeves that nearly covered your palms, looking up at him through your lashes. “Hope you don’t mind. It looked nice.”

Steve shook his head, shamelessly admiring the way it looked on you. He hasn’t worn the button down in a few weeks, forgetting it was even in his closet, but glad you found it and picked it out for yourself.

“Looks better on you.” His hands rubbed up and down the sleeves before nodding his head towards his bedroom where you followed.

He headed for his closet, pulling the accordion doors open while you plopped down comfortably onto his neatly made bed, shifting onto your stomach as you observed him.

“Got any idea on what I should wear?”

“Dark jeans? Maybe some Nikes?” You suggested, propping your chin up on your arms.

“Nude top half?” He said, and you could feel the smirk in his voice.

You snorted. “Shut up. You’ll look good in whatever you pick.”

He plucked some pieces off the hangers, shutting the doors before turning to you. “Just teasing. I’ll be quick and then we’ll be out of here.”

“Take your time…do you mind if I sketch?”

You looked towards his desk, eyeing the yellow notepad that sat on top of the rest of his belongings. He nodded, walking up to it and grabbing a pen and pencil and handing them to you. “Go ahead.”

“Thank you!” You took it from him, getting to work as he walked across the hall.

You didn’t take yourself seriously with the sketch, drawing up whatever you had in your head. It’s what you had woken up to that morning��Steve’s arm slung across your stomach with his face in the crook of your neck. Snores and breaths greeting your skin in the purest kind of way, even if it had gotten you up a little earlier.

You wished you had a polaroid around to capture the scene, but thankfully your photographic memory wouldn’t ever let you forget it. Such a sight to see the sun peeking in through the cracks of the curtains, spilling a beautiful glow over his back that made each and every single one of his beauty marks stand out – now you were positive you knew where each other was.

He looked at peace, face no longer sulked and somber like it had been the night prior. The crease between his brow ironed out, not a glimmer of anxiety as he dreamed…if only you could convince him to stay right there forever because you didn’t want to share.

“Ready?”

Losing track of time when you were lost within the pen and paper wasn’t abnormal, but being pulled out of the trance by a beautiful boy was something new. You peered up from the page, breath hitched as you took all of him in.

A color block polo — dark blue to compliment the wash of his jeans and cream in the center. You liked to think he was matching you in a way.

“You look really good.” You complimented with a tight smile, capping the pen and rolling off of your stomach.

“You picked it so thank you.”

He turned to his drawers, pulling them open to get a clean pair of socks. Unbeknownst to him, you ripped the sketch off the pad, folding it and slipping it under one of the corners of his landline, just enough of it peeking out for him to find later.

You slung your bag over your shoulder, giving yourself a one over in the hanging mirror before Steve finally shut the drawer and turned back to you.

“The wash isn’t done yet?” He said, letting you walk in front before he closed his door behind him.

You hummed out a no, listening closely to hear the slight rumbling of the machine. “I can still hear it running.”

You both stopped at the front door, Steve leaning against the wall as he slipped his socks on and pushed them into his Nikes. Undoing the laces, he knotted them tighter, pulling the strings taut.

“I’ll pop them in the dryer when I get home and give you your stuff the next time I see you?”

“That’s perfect, and I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other soon.” You assured him, bending down as you strapped your sandals on.

He waited until you were ready, opening the front door for you and then reaching into his pockets for the keys. With your back facing him, you looked out on his driveway, seeing how the shiny red hood reflected the sunlight. It was practically spotless, not even a smidge of dirt across his front bumper — he must have really adored his car.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever told you how nice your car is.”

“You know she used to be cleaner before the kids started eating and leaving their crumbs behind.” He told you, his fingers twisted the front door to make sure it was locked, which it was.

“They’ve got you wrapped around their pinkies.” You nudged him as you walked down his driveway.

He wiggled the keys in the air. “Wanna give it a drive?”

“HA! You’re so funny.”

“No, I’m serious.” He added, placing the keys in your hands and closing your fingers around them.

“You’re gonna let me drive your fancy car?”

He laughed comically, unsure why it seemed so out of this world to you that he would let you drive his car. You’re probably the only person Steve trusted to drive it. You’re responsible, and unlike Eddie, he knows you won’t try to race the other cars on the road.

“You’ve got your license, which means you know how to operate a car. Fancy or not.”

“You sure?” You sought again skeptically, giving him one last chance to back out.

“I trust you. Now c’mon, I’ll give you directions and everything and this time you won’t get lost.” He assured you, walking over to the driver’s side holding the door open for you.

“You put way too much trust in me, Steve.” You puffed with a weak laugh, walking over to get in.

“Actually, just the right amount.” He patted the top of the hood before shutting the door.

He held his hands out for your purse, resting it in his lap as you began adjusting the seat and mirrors to your liking. Steve reminded you that it was okay to adjust it as much as you needed, that he would be able to fix it all back to normal later. Before you knew it, you were on the road, driving in probably the nicest car you’ve ever driven in your life while the radio played and Steve gave you directions to Joyce and Hop’s.

“And ladies and gentlemen, we’ve arrived…alive!” Steve cupped his hands around his mouth, announcing it with a deep voice as you giggled.

“Stop it!” You placed the car into park before nudging his shoulder with a feeble fist.

His hands let up, looking in your direction with a small smile showing up. “I knew you’d do good.”

“Got my half broken down piece of crap to thank.” You joked, jutting your chin to your less than adorned car parked beside his.

“You know Eddie’s uncle knows a thing or two about cars? Maybe he could check it out one day?”

“Oh my god, please?”

“I’ll call Eds today and see what Wayne can do.”

“You’re amazing.”

Steve felt like he’d been reduced to a fit of smiles and sore cheeks all morning, taking in your compliments and passing them back to you. He’s used to people thanking him, but never for the bare minimum parts he promises you he’ll never break. It’s something he could get acquainted with, and he hoped it would never end.

Within his peripheral vision, he could see the family begin to crowd the porch, watching through the windshield. “Looks like we’ve got a crowd.”

“I’m not surprised.” You retorted, making the first move to remove the key from the ignition and open the door.

“Morning!” You hailed out loud, tossing the keys over to Steve as he locked it up.

“You let her drive your car!” El exclaimed, though you were both pretty sure she meant it as a question.

“Mhm, she’s horrible, a menace to society. You should arrest her right now, Hop.” Steve answered seriously, patting Hop on the behind with a growing smirk.

“You’re ridiculous.” You snorted, waking over to give the kids and Jonathan a hug.

“Had a fun night?” Hop urged, leaning against the post.

You nodded, looking up at Steve. “More like relaxing… Steve’s shower pressure is perfect, better than the one I have at home.” You informed them, missing the smirks that fell on Hop and Jonathan’s faces.

Hop stuck his hand out, pushing at Steve’s shoulder roughly. “Oh, I’m sure Steve has the right amount of pressure somewhere else—”

Joyce erupted with a loud cough, picking up your attention and catching her stomp on his foot in the process, while he winced, cursing under his breath.

“Inside!” She blurted, clearing her throat and gesturing to the front door, "I’m gonna give you the dish you brought inside! I just washed and dried it a little while ago.”

“Oh, okay!”

The spectators on the front porch waited until you were out of reach to start talking about what was going through their minds since you and Steve left last night. It was a short goodbye; you thanking Joyce and Hop for having you over and giving everyone else a hug while Steve waited by until you were done. Safe to say, once you both drove off, they all speculated on what was going to happen and why you were really spending the night at his.

“You’re disgusting, dad.” Will scowled, shaking his head with revulsion.

Hopper ignored him, looking over at Steve. “She’s wearing your clothes.”

“Okay and?” Steve said, looking a little annoyed at how anyone was crediting him for the truth.

“You two had sex.” He declared flatly, a grin tugging up on his lips as the porch exploded with grunts and obscenities to shut up.

“Oh, my god!” Jonathan choked on his spit, turning away and laughing.

“Gross!” El yelped, covering her tomato red face.

“I think I’m gonna barf.” Will declared, dramatically clutching his stomach.

Steve rolled his eyes at their ignorance, arms crossing over his chest. “Believe it or not, I don’t need to have sex with her to have a good night.”

“Wow, isn’t that the first?” Jonathan bantered with a satirical inflection in his tone.

“Is that a hickey on your neck?” Steve narrowed his eyes, pointed at the purple bruise hiding behind his messy hair.

“I’m definitely gonna throw up.” Will gagged, turning away and covering his mouth.

El frowned, looking down at her chipped nails. “Is that why Nancy didn’t want to paint my nails last night?”

Hop looked between the youngest and the oldest. “I thought she left with Robin after the barbecue.”

“Oh my god, this isn’t about me!” Jonathan stammered, slapping a hand behind his ear to hide the love bite.

“What happened?” You buzzed, strolling back out to the porch with the glass bowl in hand and Joyce beside you.

Steve grinned wickedly, happy that he got them off his back, turning to Jonathan and smacking him over the head lightly. “Nothing, just teasing him.”

“Speaking of, Jonathan, don’t you need to give her something?” Joyce’s eyes darted to the back of his pocket where the flyer was folded up.

He reached behind him, passing it over to you, Steve taking the bowl from your hands so that you could unfold it and read its contents. A bright graphic announcement of a farmer’s market that would be hosted in Hawkins next weekend.

“Nance meant to give it to you last night, but she forgot,” Jonathan began, “We’re trying to get the town rallying behind small business before they all get driven out. She was wondering if you wanted to help out and host a booth.”

“Like a bake sale?” You proposed.

He shrugged, looking over at his brother for some guidance. “Kinda, but she was thinking of it as a bake sale and art sale combined.”

Will chimed in without missing a beat. “I pitched the idea to Nance, and she seemed to really like it. I could help you manage the booth. I’ll take the art side and you can handle the baked goods, then we switch around the halfway mark.”

“That’s genius.” You grinned, reaching back to rubbing his shoulder proudly.

“No really, you guys should do it.” Steve supported from behind you knowing that you would be great at something like this.

El let out a gasp, clutching your shoulder lightly as she wedged herself between you and Steve. “I can help with the money! I’m getting better at counting change!” She spoke bubbly, making you and him laugh.

“Nancy’s covering the whole thing and writing a paper about it. She’s really hoping to get it published.”

You’d help out either way knowing that this was an important cause, but hearing about how Nancy was the leader of this whole thing made you want to help even more. She was so passionate when talking to you about her love for writing and keeping these mom-and-pops in her town up and running — you were definitely in.

“Well, tell her I’d be happy to help!” You replied warmly, folding up the paper and sticking it in your purse.

“Great! I’ll let her know!”

You twisted your head, looking over at Hop. “Oh! And thank you for filling up the tire!”

“No problem, kid.”

“It didn’t take you long, no?”

“Easy as could be.” The older man assured you with his tongue clicking.

“Told ya.” Steve smirked, pressing his elbow gently into your side, making you giggle.

The two of you didn’t notice how the family was watching the way you and Steve interacted like a couple, so oblivious to the small touches and teasing that usually never came with everyone else. It was the kids who stepped forward, breaking up the love dove fest between the both of you. Will slung his arm over Steve’s shoulder and El rested her chin on his shoulder with those puppy eyes that the babysitter could not say no to, even after the meltdown last night.

“Steve, could you give us a ride to the arcade? Lucas and Max are already there.”

Steve scoffed, glancing over at the other adults around. “You’ve got your parents and your brother here who all have licenses you know.”

“Hop and I are gonna go run errands!” Joyce clapped her hands, gawking up at Hop who snapped out of it and nodded agreeingly.

“Gotta go see Nancy.” Jonathan tried to excuse himself.

It was no use. Steve was ultimately the go-to chauffeur, the best and safest driver who wouldn’t only take them to point A and B, but stayed until they were ready to go back home and occasionally gave them spare change when they ran out.

“Go get changed.” Steve exhaled, utterly defeated.

El and Will cheered, detaching themselves from his sides before engulfing you in a quick, yet tight hug. “Bye! We’ll see you!” They said before rushing inside.

“Bye-bye, kiddos.”

Steve looked over at you, tilting his head towards your car. “C’mon, I’ll walk you.”

You nodded, twiddling your fingers at Jonathan and his parents. “Bye guys, thanks again!”

“See ya sweetie.”

Steve stepped a bit ahead of you, opening the driver door when you clicked the fob before moving towards the back seat and putting the dishware on the empty seats. You waited until he shut the door before reaching up and wrapping him up in a hug.

Your bodies molded together, like they’ve done times before, holding one another properly like it was routine by now. His face in the crook of your neck while you tiptoed and rested your forehead under his jaw.

“Drive home safe okay?” He squeezed your back, feeling the skin indent through the garment.

“I will.” You promised, taking a deep breath of him in, savoring everything right now.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t let anyone beat Max’s high score on Dig Dug.” You spoke half jokingly.

“I’ll try.” He huffed out against your neck

“Tell me about it later.”

He gave your back one last gentle squeeze, pressing a kiss to your temple before he released you and let you get into the front seat. You hadn’t made the move to close the door yet, just settling in by placing your bag on the passenger seat and twisting on the ignition.

“You still have a full tank?” Steve peered a ways bit in, his focus on the arrow on your dashboard. He got a glimpse of the red light that switched on, making a mental note to bring it up to Eddie later today.

You took a peek, nodding and looking up to meet his gaze. “A little more than half. I should be okay for the drive home.”

“Okay, sorry, just wanted to make sure. Didn’t want you running out on the highway.” He apologized sheepishly, raking a hand through his hair.

“No, it’s alright, it was sweet.” You giggled, moving up to tuck a stray piece of hair away from his eyes.

He gulped, your hand still trying to place the piece with his roots. “See you in a few days?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, nodding your head, “a few days.” You agreed, fingertips finally trailing over his cheek and jaw before falling back into your lap.

“O-okay… great, awesome, get home safe.” He sputtered slightly, eyes still holding yours.

“You too! Oh, and Steve?” You stopped him from moving away from your car, though he wasn’t making plans to, anyway.

“Yeah?”

“I might have left something on your desk, but you can just check it out later okay?”

“Something important? I can drive down and get it real quick?”

You shook your head immediately. “No, no, I mean yeah, it’s important, but not that important… well I kinda hope that it is important, to you I mean — sorry, am I rambling?”

“Not at all.” He said, biting back a chuckle.

“Just…just check it out when you get home okay?” You asked, voice fluttering with desperation like you needed him to find it.

“Promise.”

You took a deep breath in, smiling wistfully and feeling your chest tighten having to say goodbye. “See ya, Steve.”

“I’ll see you, cupcake.” He assured you, tapping the hood of your car and shutting your door gently.

It’s been hours since this morning. The day slowly dwindled into night by the time Steve parked his car in the driveway and unlocked the front door. He was only able to pop in for a few minutes before he brought the kids to the arcade, throwing the clean laundry into the dryer and saving your overalls for when he got home. Slipping his shoes off, he made a beeline to the laundry room, tossing the denim material into the machine before emptying the dryer and taking the basket with him.

“Fuck,” He spat, stubbing his toe near his desk in the darkness before clicking on the lamp for a little bit of light.

He dropped the basket onto the floor, making plans to fold and put them all away before he went to bed. But eyes caught the bright yellow paper tucked under his home phone, crimped into fourths with his name written in a heart on it.

It was you who left it and he knew it. His hand springing forward and nearly toppling the phone off the desk all together as he seized it and swiftly opened it up without ripping.

A sketch of you and him in bed. You’re lying awake, facing towards him with your hands resting on his arm that’s sprawled over your stomach. His face is partly hidden in your neck, yet you’ve detailed everything like the bridge of his nose and the curve of his jaw. Even the freckles that litter his skin are dotted in the blank ink. Glimmers of sunlight created with the gray graphite along with the creases of the bed sheets covering the bottom half of your bodies.

Even for a sketch, he knows this is unreal, the talent you have, insane for drawing this up in the matter of his fifteen minute shower. He should have been looking at himself, appreciating how much thought you put in to making sure it looked exactly like him, yet he’s looking at you.

How you’ve drawn your face with somehow all the emotions that he can feel through this piece of paper. That while he was asleep dreaming of you, you were awake watching him. It’s intimate, like you’ve let him know what you’ve both been feeling all this time and finally confessed.

In the prettiest and neatest handwriting he’d ever seen, you had left a message in the blank corner.

‘You look pretty when you’re sleeping, Stevie. Not gonna forget like an idiot this time… xxx-xxx-xxxx.’

Steve had never picked up the phone and dialed so speedily that he had to hang up and redial, totally messing up and pressing the wrong numbers the first time.

It’s been hours since you departed Hawkins. The drive back to Roane was uneventful but still smooth, hitting no traffic and even crunching enough time to stop by the diner to say hello to Dorothea and catch her up on life.

You had spent the rest of the day fueled with energy and anticipation. The second you walked into your apartment you felt a spark of motivation. Something calling you back to the piece you had abandoned only 24 hours ago. Now you had a clear mind and no thoughts of feeling like the sketch looked like garbage — even if it was a flicker of false inspiration, you’d take it.

Half of the sketch had already been painted by the late afternoon. Different shades of browns you had mixed together for the golden crust of the pie as well as the lattice design you had freehanded. Only parts of the cherry filling had been painted with a red too red for your liking, but you’d go back in tomorrow to refine it instead of beating yourself up then and forgetting about the progress you had made.

You were trying to be nicer to yourself.

Little progress still meant progress, and that was the one thing that mattered. That finally something in your system was flowing the way you wanted it to, and part of you felt like it was Steve. Possibly his reminder echoing in the back of your head that the act of trying was literally you trying, and that in itself was good enough.

You were good enough and the progress you made was good enough.

Breathe. Take it in. Breathe out. Take it in.

The act of you literally doing breathing exercises in front of your painting could’ve been seen as narcissistic. Maybe it was? But for you, it meant something a lot different. It was you patting yourself on the back for what you did and making mental notes of what you could’ve improved on without openly criticizing yourself so harshly.

You were so good to other people; you had to find it in yourself to be good to you. To treat you the way, you treated others — how you complimented everyone for doing their best and how you should’ve been doing the same all this time.

It was never too late to break down that old system….to grow and be better.

You had walked away from the canvas minutes ago, busy in the kitchen grabbing a little snack and figuring out what you were going to have for dinner or even if you had any energy left to make some. A hot bag of popcorn came out of the microwave and you popped open a soda, going to sit at the table for a little downtime before—

RING! RING! RING!

“Eeeek!” Squealing you nearly tripped over the coffee table, rushing towards the phone juggling your snacks as you struggled to figure out what to do first — put everything down or answer the phone.

“Hello!” You answered nearly out of breath yet cheerfully, gasping quietly as you caught your can of Coke before it tipped over and made a mess.

“Hey!” Steve’s voice rang through the other line, and he sounded just as delighted.

“Steve! Hey….” you paused, catching your breath, “y-you found my sketch?”

“It’s my newest prized possession.”

“I missed you… I-I mean, I missed hearing your voice. We literally just saw each other this morning.”

Somehow it felt easier to talk to Steve in person rather than on the phone–even if it meant he could physically see you blushing and smiling like a maniac. Yet he found it cute, how you tried to cover your tracks as if he didn’t feel the same way and could imagine what you looked like right then.

“I missed you too — you’re voice and you.” He said, making you smile wider.

“What are you up to?” You asked, getting comfortable on the floor.

“Laying in bed, still looking at the drawing while talking to you.”

“Are you sleepy?” You wondered, realizing the hour and the day he must have had.

“No! Sorry… I just didn’t want you to think I’m tired. I mean I am tired, but I’m not tired enough to not want to talk to you.” He said convincingly, though his stumbling over words made you second guess it.

“You can always sleep if you want to…we could talk tomorr—”

He cut you off with an abrupt disapproving hum. “Don’t even think about it!”

You giggled, shoulders rising and falling comfortably before you started up. “You’ll never guess what I did today!”

“Steal the cronut recipe?” He guessed without skipping a beat.

“Oh my god, no!”

“Fineee tell me.”

“I painted!” You exclaimed, voice rising higher, “like actually. really. painted. something with my own hands and I didn’t look at it and think “wow this looks like shit,” I did it!”

You sounded proud of yourself, and he hoped you were feeling that just as much on the inside. Only a week ago, you were tearing yourself apart in the diner where you sat across from him, and he could do nothing but speak encouraging and honest words to you, hoping you’d see it through the way he did.

If he was there, he’d give you the biggest hug in the world then take you out to the diner. This time he’d actually grab the bill before you could and bring more quarters so you could play an unlimited amount of love songs and dance with him until your bellies were full and your legs were tired.

You wished he was here.

“Oh, sweetheart, that’s great! What’d you paint?”

You swallowed, peering up at the canvas that was drying. “It’s uhh… it’s a surprise!”

“Surprise?” He said, literally taken by surprise.

“Yeah! So I can’t tell you.”

“Well, I’m looking forward to seeing it… maybe soon?”

“Fingers crossed.”

That was enough for him… a promise that one day, whenever it may be, he would get the chance to see it with his very own eyes instead of just hearing about it. He already knew he’d be complimenting it and you for days on end, you’d probably get sick of it, but he wouldn’t.

“You’ll never guess what happened today.” Steve began shuffling a bit on his bed to get comfortable.

You gasped, reaching for your popcorn and tossing some in your mouth. “Did Dustin beat Max’s score?”

“Worse.” He said behind a strained laugh.

“Oh god.”

“Mike did!”

You slapped your hand down on the coffee table, making him chortle on the other line, knowing you’d react like this. “Oh, my gosh! Tell. Me. Everything!”

“It’s a long one.” He warned you, hoping you had the time to give him.

You scoffed jokingly, grabbing your snacks and leaning back on the couch cushions. “I’ve got all night, Harrington.”

Your midnights. Your mornings. Your afternoons. He hoped he could have them all... he wasn't sure if it was too soon for all of that, if the idea of having them already thought up in his mind was cool or not.

But he'd just have to hope that everything... all of this, you and him.

It was delicate, but it didn't always have to be.

“Lucky me.”

💌 reblogs, tags, comments, + likes are greatly appreciated! leave a comment and let me know if want to be added to my taglist!! 💌

a/n: how are we all feeling after that? i know i am kicking my feet wishing i had a steve to treat me so soft and nicely! ugh, guys this is probably my most favorite chapter i've written so far -- i really wanted this chapter to focus on domesticity and the softness between glitch reader and steve!!! my heart and soul is always alway so thankful for the wonderful effie aka @translatemunson who is always giving me feedback and helping me proof-read...i literally could not do this without her so thank you so much bby, i love you!!! 🥹💘 i really hope you all love this chapter as much as i do...isn't it just so delicate?!

taglist: @translatemunson @kennedy-brooke @manda-panda-monium @tvserie-s-world @givemeth @steveharringtonswife @astolenkiss @loving-and-dreaming @awkotaco24 @engenelxver @elfiaaaa @pbs-theundeadmaggot @johnricharddeacy @gaysludge @scoopshxrrington @micheledawn1975 @ihatepeanutss @bakugouswh0r3 @claireiscrying @we-out-here-simping @dreamerjj

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chippedtoons · 5 months

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no idea who needs to hear this but here's some genuinely solid advice i learned through my own living experience:

never trust the mean shit your brain says before a good bowl of soup.

i think about two months back my cycle started, and because of diarrhea + feeling like shit in general i was in n out of the bathroom all morning, + i was feeling weirdly hungry as if i didn't eat breakfast earlier, and the nurse just so happened to be busy that day so i couldn't get any food. its also worth noting that for some reason i NEVER feel fem when im on my period so i was also mad dysphoric. then i accidentally clogged the toilet in my strings class while waiting for my dad to pick me up so i felt guilty about that. so to sum up my general mood it was bad. both physically and mentally i felt like shit. so when i got home i stuck my heating pad in the microwave and made a bowl of shrimp ramen, because it's already a comfort food of mine and its also significantly easier to make than anything else is when you're in pain.

after ten minutes of eating aforementioned shrimp ramen i was suddenly not in a mental state of hating myself.

soup cures.

#nova's posts #mk's posts #chiptoons #life hacks

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neurodiversitysci · 2 years

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Panicking-over-almost-nothing Demand Avoidance

Funny ADHD story

Last week, I made the mistake of volunteering for a sleep study at my old college. They pay well, I wanted to help, and maybe I’d learn something about my sleep.

I got an email a few days ago saying "here are some times you could come in," none of which are possible, and forgot to follow up.

I got another email from their lab this morning. Haven't even opened it yet, but as soon as I saw it I started panicking. OMG SOMEONE WANTS SOMETHING FROM ME AND I HAVE TO DO SOMETHING FOR SOMEONE ELSE WHAT IF I FAIL OH NO.

(My hell brain believes that Making Other People Happy is safety).

Knowledge of that email has been hanging over my head distracting me and filling me with That Feeling of Foreboding ever since. Which is inconvenient, as I have an Important Errand to prepare for this morning.

I'm reminding my hell brain that

a) I signed up for this; I don't *have* to do anything,

b) an email is not inherently dangerous,

c) whether I succeed or fail, having someone else expect something from me isn't going to kill me.

My hell brain, unimpressed, continues flooding my body with anxiety.

The Pattern of Demand Avoidance

I’m reminded of that awful term “pathological demand avoidance” (seriously, who thought it would be a good idea to use a term that abbreviates to PDA?). It was coined to describe people, especially kids, who continually refuse to do things that others expect from them. For years, the only time I came across the term was in reference to “misbehaving” kids. The label sounds willfully defiant, and is inherently pejorative (I mean, it has the word “pathological” in it).

Unfortunately, it also fits my situation surprisingly well. I’m terrified of anyone wanting anything from me, even just answering an email.

I put off answering emails for exactly this reason, then feel guilty for being late to reply, and the cycle continues, potentially ad infinitum/until it’s been so long that it feels too late to reply, and I eventually let myself forget about it and let it go, in favor of worrying about new emails.

It’s not just emails, though; those are just an example of how innocuous my panic triggers can be.

Right now, I procrastinate on all manner of tasks related to getting involved in activities, making friends, and dating. I literally avoid reaching out to people I want to interact with, because What If They Expect Me to Contact Them Back (And Know What to Say, And Have It Not be Awkward) In a Reasonable Amount of Time.

I spend far more time procrastinating on such tasks than it would take to actually do them.

Don’t even get me started on the yearly months-long mental tug of war over thank you notes that I went through as a teenager. Or the time I almost didn’t graduate high school because I was stuck on some paperwork and procrastinated down to the wire.

Freaking out over an email about something I literally volunteered to do, however, is a new low.

It’s no surprise that I have so little faith in myself right now. I’ve hit the wall three times now, with real consequences for my life. What if it happens again?

I don’t trust my brain enough to want to commit to anything. What if I do it wrong? What if I do it late? What if I don’t do it at all?

And it’s become such a habit that I am avoiding doing something I literally cannot fail, except by avoiding it. Sigh.

Reexamining My Procrastination

As someone on Tumblr put it, people with ADHD go through a mental tug of war. One part of you insists “Do the thing” while another, usually stronger, part protests, “No.” Not surprisingly, it makes it hard to get started on things. If you can break through that tug of war, you’re exhausted before you even start.

I’m now considering the possibility that this deep fear of failing is probably a reason for it.

I’ve often wondered why I procrastinate so much on trivial things whose negative sensory properties I can ameliorate (like doing the dishes). The habit of fear and avoidance is probably part of it.

But also, I might just be afraid of failing myself. After all, other people aren’t the only ones who have expectations.

TL;DR

If you see someone of any age avoiding everything others want them to do, however innocuous, consider that it may not be defiance. They might just be terrified.

10/24/22

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beneathsilverstars · 3 months

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3 and 11 for the ISAT ask game

3- favorite soundtrack?

"It's Finally Over..."! It's 100% the track that stuck out to me the most while playing. That little bit of uncanniness... I can't tell if it's actually a teensy bit out-of-tune in that music box way or just using unexpected note combos or what, but it's obvious that something is ever-so-slightly off.

I almost chose "Isn't It Over?" but no — It's true that "It's Finally Over" wouldn't be what it is if it wasn't building up to the subsequent track, but it's specifically the build-up that I love. The absolute dread of knowing exactly what comes next and that there is nothing you can do to avoid it. You've already spoken to each companion, and again for the this-npc-is-out-of-dialogue line, and again for good measure. You've already sat on the bench, looked out the window. You've already desperately checked the exit one last time. You're just standing there listening to that horribly sweet little song and you just want it to be over already but you don't want to end it. you don't want to end it. you don't want to end it. but that's the only thing left that you can do.

It is such a well-done part of the game and the music is so perfect and makes it all the more powerful! Plus I just love pluck-y instruments like music boxes and harps haha.

11- any character headcanons?

Hmm... I headcanon that Pétronille is bipolar with psychotic symptoms! The other day I joked that I could knock out two post-canon birds with one stone by making Nille a licensed psychotherapist, but it was definitely a joke. Buut... if she's got some kinda shit going on, then she can still bring another perspective on mental health to the post-canon table, which is so useful, esp if it's a very different experience from Mirabelle's. I still haven't decided exactly what I want to give Siffrin, but definitely something with an element of psychosis, so with this Nille hc there will be someone in the party who gets the psychotic side, along with Mirabelle who gets the social anxiety.

Since Nille's nearly a blank slate, I went with bipolar because it's something I'm more familiar with (though I don't have it myself, I'm just a depressanxiety bitch). Being able to clearly picture the things she'd struggle with made her suddenly feel like a full-fledged character in my mind that I could have opinions on and make plans for! I'm particularly invested in the dynamic of her being a solo caretaker and having to get up each morning and keep being a stable presence for her sibling no matter how unstable she's feeling herself. It's fucking hard, but she had help, and you don't have to be perfect to do well enough, and she did quite well enough in the end!

I haven't decided my exact headcanons here yet, but since mood disorders can be hereditary, there's also a chance that a family history of mental health struggles contributed to the toxic household she ran away from. Breaking the cycle or whatever! I imagine she might get psychotically fixated on not fucking up the way her parents fucked up, worried that running away wasn't enough and the rot will follow their family forever. 😔 And then there's also a chance that Bonnie would have inherited it as well, and I love the idea of Bonnie growing up familiar with all of this mental health shit and by the time their own disorder starts manifesting they know exactly what it is and a variety of techniques for managing it. It's still difficult, but they have a much easier time than Nille did, and everyone is so fucking grateful that they're able to be there for Bonnie (and Nille) and help them live their best lives! And it turns out, Nille being mentally ill didn't prevent her from being a good caretaker for Bonnie - it actually made her the best possible caretaker for this child in particular.

#isat pétronille #isat #nille #ask meme answers #thoughts #thoughts about nille #thoughts about bonnie

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autumnbell32 · 8 months

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1/15/24 at 1225: I'm Scared, and I Want to Remember This Feeling

There are ugly sides to this chronic, severe mental illness- things that happen in dark, isolated rooms amongst body odor and empty food cartons- that I'm not going to avoid sharing because that doesn't help anyone. This disease puts its sufferers in a damp, lonely, sticky place. Friends, this is the most unhealthy I have ever been, regardless of the fact that my therapist says I'm still making progress. I'm on three medications- one an antipsychotic (never wanted to deal with the neurological and metabolic side effects of those again) and I'm still about 60 pounds heavier than my normal weight. I binge to numb the emotional pain and feelings of loss (I've only had rare instances of depression actually decreasing my appetite and causing weight loss). I'm 38, diabetes, high blood pressure and heart disease run in my family, and my health just isn't going to hold up against this illness anymore (I'm really worried the damage is already done). I have a past history of being somewhat fit and active, but now I feel as if I have betrayed my body more than it is willing to accept. I'm scared and I want to remember this feeling.

I see a gynecologist who treats PMDD tomorrow morning and am begging the universe for some relief because I really can't keep weathering these cycles on my own anymore- my sails are full of holes. Remove one stone, protect my health for a little longer, so that I can continue to be strong enough to come out the other side of this. I am determined that my life will be better by the fall. I've already put some plans in place and am just hoping that it isn't too late for me.

Yesterday I left my apartment for a while. I needed cat food and litter, and was starting to feel stir crazy behind these walls (the drywall type and the type that depression builds). It took a bit of time to get the snow and ice off of my car- the temperature was about -20 F with windchill, so I was worried about frostbite since my circulation sucks. It sucks even more after all of the weight gain. I finished my errands but got stuck in the snow at an intersection, though two gentlemen were kind enough to push my car out. Then, when I arrived back home, the smartlock on my apartment door had jammed from the cold. I was locked out of my apartment, cat food and litter and coffee and charger cord in my arms, and had to call maintenance. The poor guy said these type of locks only belong in warmer environments and he had been up since the predawn hours fixing jammed smartlocks in the bitter cold. Even though I waited in my running car, legs hanging down and resting on heels, my feet went numb- specifically the heels. I didn't regain feeling in them for over 30 minutes. In a dumb panic, I kept rubbing them, pressing them into the floor, and rested them on a heating pad. Today they are sore, probably from me constantly pushing on them, but that scares me. The skin looks fine, feeling has completely returned, and I can discern light touch. I hear my body's messages, telling me that my health is fading behind this illness.

#tw ED talk #tw weight talk #tw depression #bipolar type ii #PMDD #I'm not giving up #writer #writing #writeblr #journal entry #I feel lucky that my job provides good insurance

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alexs-addiction · 7 months

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Explaining Addiction - A semi-vent post?

Addiction.

Addiction is the wild, unstable beast that ravages my mind and body.

Addiction is tiny cute rabbit who turns into the tall, scary monster the second you pick it up and pet it, sinking its sharp claws into the very essence of my being. All while filling my brain with these happy chemicals that make you feel that everything is fine more than fine!

Addiction is a quiet war that I am fighting every second of every minute of every hour of every day. All while I think nothing has changed about my appearance. The dilated pupils, thinned hair, sunken eyes and slimmed figure say differently.

Physical injury pain can be treated at the hospital with some stiches, some medicine, and some rest. Bam! a few weeks later, good as new.

This pain, this is something entirely different. People turn to substances because the pain becomes so much, becomes unbearable. A lot of us have tried to take our own lives at one point or another, sometimes more than once. But once we accept the fact that we are stuck on this planet to suffer with our pain, we search for other ways to cope and hide the pain.

So, we turn to substances. Some of us for hidden physical pain like Fibromyalgia, or Endometriosis, or Complex Regional Pain Syndrome, but for a lot of us, its the mental pain.

It's the years of abuse, the generational trauma, the abusive relationships, the sexual assaults, the bullying, the self hatred, the cycle of familial addiction.

The pain that comes along with that is hard to avoid. Especially when combined with PTSD.

To think of how much someone has to be suffering to turn to substances.

Personally, my depression was so fucking bad that I had to turn to crystal fucking meth to get through regular work days. To be able to find any enjoyment in my days.

CRYSTAL FUCKING METHAMPHETAMINE!!

I had survived what my brother did to me, leaving that with an alcohol problem. Then got sober. Then my abusive ex and abusive friends that I had left me with a pain pill problem after hurting my back.

Then being disowned by one of the only family members I looked up to. And losing the other one. And being left with no family that I really cared about. The pain of that was so bad that I smoked Crystal Meth just to function.

Losing my grandfather has nearly killed me. He passed on the morning of August 26th, 2023. The date now is March 1st 2024. I have officially lost over 170 lbs. All thanks to Crystal Meth.

Fuck Addiction.

#addiction #vent post #rant #meth addiction

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lessoneislessthannow · 1 year

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"I'll slit your neck with a razorblade"

"I'm leaving, and I'm never coming back"

"What the fuck asshole why did you blow up my phone so many times?" "Cause I was outside your house waiting for you... sorry I'm pretty used to getting blown off" "YEAH well I thought about it..."

"You can't and don't carry me, not physically, mentally, or financially"

"Shut the fuck up bitch"

I know better than to allow anyone to speak to me that way. I have self-esteem, and I'm not the one being an asshole

... next thing you know, you're in the middle of Aberdeen at three in the morning questioning why you're even helping someone who seems to care about you but doesn't have an ounce of respect for you, nor your feelings, nor your time...

But you still care, because you see stuck, somewhere, they're is still a soul inside them...

So you let them in

Feed them

Harbor them

Care for them

... Narcan them.

The cycle repeats OVER AND OVER AND OVER AGAIN

THIS OPIOID CRISIS IS SOMETHING I NEVER BEGAN TO COMPREHEND, until day 2 I moved to Washington

... the 49th worst state for substance abuse and addiction treatment

This is why I moved here ; I feel compelled to make a change, but there needs to be a line drawn between my life and the purpose of my work... except it is EVERYWHERE

You can't even begin to imagine, from the rich to the poor... it's literally harder to bum a cigarette in this state than to score some meth or herion

On the plus side

I was questioning ... just how much my addictive personality was going to influence me

So purposely, I moved between safety and absolute poverty; as a way to motivate myself never to go back to the way I used to be

I've been around it so much in "safety"

I don't even want it

I have no craving

I have no fixing.

I'm not 10+6 anymore

I've got a future

I want more

You'll never find me washed up on the muddy banks of the WISHKAH or the ocean shore

But as a population

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK WASHINGTON

DO MORE

Do it now

This is some of the worst poverty and addiction I've ever seen and your government has no better solution than to bus the "junkies," veterans, and immigrants to TENT CITIES right below the overpasses surrounded by IMMENSE beauty

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the12thnightproject · 1 year

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Tempest in Time Prologue Part 2 - Becoming Katsu

In which Katsu trains as a courier, and encounters Kyubei, Yoshimoto, and Ieyasu. Part one HERE.

Maid… I mentally grumbled to myself, several weeks later as I scrubbed the floor of the training building, while his student/ apprentices – three young men about my age – drilled with each other and Aki in hand to hand combat.

I wasn’t sure what was the worst thing about being a housemaid – the work itself, which was an unending cycle of scrubbing floors, dusting, cleaning, cooking, and then floors again – or the utter tedium of it all.

I stared idly at the young men – Iekane, Takauji, and Okitane – while their training switched from hand to hand, to swordsmanship. Iekane looked in our direction and winked.

My fellow maid, Niwa, sighed. “They’re so handsome.”

“Eh, I suppose.” Iekane, with his floppy dark hair and easy smile was pretty hot, and the other two were definitely built (except poor Takauji’s ears stuck out, and he was often the subject of teasing from the other two). Due to my ill-fitting maid’s clothing and hacked up hair (Fume, the chatelaine, had ruthlessly chopped the “devil’s” turquoise streaks out of it) I couldn’t imagine that any of them would be interested in me. Anyway, I was more envious of their freedom to fight and run, while Niwa and I were stuck –

“Aren’t you girls finished yet?” Stop flirting with the boys and come help in the kitchen!” Fume came out to chide us both.

Ok. Fume was the worst thing about being a housemaid. Not only did she chop off my hair, but she refused to use my name, telling me that “Katsuko” sounded odd, it was too grand a name for a maid. To Fume, I was “Kaya,” if she wanted my attention, or “that devil girl” if she was talking about me behind my back. She never abused me, but I was constantly aware of her disapproval.

She was glaring at me, unfairly, because I hadn’t been the one flirting.

Niwa giggled some more, but I felt myself flush with resentment. I didn’t want to flirt with “the boys,” but I did want to play alongside them - especially when they got to work out on an apparatus that trained them to climb walls, swing on beams across the ceiling, and flip down again.

I can do that better, I thought to myself when Takauji stumbled and fell on his climb down.

“Girls.” Fume’s warning was punctuated with the shaking of her knife. And while she had never stabbed anyone with it (yet), she could, if she was really in a #mood, slap us with the flat sideo the blade.

With one last look at the apparatus, I picked up my rags, and retreated to the main house, where I spent the rest of the afternoon stripping willow bark to replenish Fume’s supplies for medicinal tea.

It wasn’t merely the tedium. I also chafed at my inability to find out what happened to Toshiie. I knew enough to understand that I would never survive outside Aki’s manor if I took off to look for him myself. Aki might have the resources to help, but every time I sought him out to ask, he was already busy with his students or entertaining a wide variety of messengers and visitors. Or… not around at all.

A clatter awoke me from my sleep. As usual, there was that moment of limbo when I managed to forget that I’d been hurtled into another era. Then my fingers smoothed the rough fibers of my blanket, and I remembered.

But… it wasn’t morning. I looked over at Niwa’s half of the room, and saw her guiltily fumbling with the lantern. She put her fingers to her lips.

“Where are you going?” I kept my voice to a low whisper. Fume’s room was next to ours.

She jerked her head toward the doorway, where Okitane was standing. It looked like all of his things were stuffed in a large leather pack. “We’re leaving. Together. Okitane has a cousin who has an Inn in Himeji, and we’re going there to help run it.”

“Please don’t tell anyone.” Okitane glanced nervously over at the wall that Niwa and my room shared with Fume’s room.

I didn’t care whether or not they ran away… although, ugh, that would mean double work for me. I doubted anyone else would care either, but if they wanted to play out their Romeo and Juliet fantasies, who was I to stop them?

Then, I had a thought. “I won’t tell… but can we make a trade?” I took off my earrings – I had no need for them here- and addressed Okitane. “I want some of your clothes.”

The next morning, instead of putting on my maid clothes, I got dressed in Okitane’s clothing and presented myself along with Iekane and Takauji.

Aki acted as if he’d been expecting this development. “Is this what you wish?”

I nodded. What his apprentices got to do was more interesting than scrubbing floors.

Takauji bowed to me and introduced himself. “Are you newly arrived?”

Iekane elbowed him. “Idiot. Kaya’s one of Fume’s maids. She’s been here all winter.”

Aki simply nodded at him. “Katsuko will be taking Okitane’s place. When she is training with you, I expect you to treat her as if she were a man. Katsuhira.”

“Katsuhira?” Iekane stated the name like it tasted like ash in his mouth.

Ok, that was kind of a mouthful. “I’m fine if you just call me Katsu.” It was a step up from being called Kaya by Fume anyway. Might was well simplify things.

Aki turned back to me. “Fume will expect that you continue to perform some of your maid’s duties.”

Of course she would.

“What is it that you actually do?” Aki had suddenly joined me one afternoon while I was practicing archery, and while it was an idle making small talk question, it was something that I had been wondering about for a while. When he wasn’t at ‘the Mountain’ (which is what everyone called his house) training us, sending, and answering letters, he could, and did often disappear for days – weeks even, then return looking like the weight of the world was on his back.

“What is it you think I do?” Typical Aki. Answers a question with another question.

It had been about two years since he had taken me in. That particular day, I had the grounds to myself, as Iekane was delivering messages and Takauji was recovering from a fractured arm sustained when the rope he was climbing broke and sent him hurtling to the ground. Up until this point, I had been learning martial arts, swordsmanship and archery. Not to brag, but I was the best of three of us, in the latter. Though if I were being honest, I was the worst at swordsmanship, so it all balanced out.

“I figured you were some kind of military training for boys that don’t have a clan connection that allows them to apprentice to a cousin or Uncle.” From talking to the others, I knew that Takauji was the son of a merchant who had lost his money after a shipwreck, and Iekane was illegitimate.

“Not a bad guess. However, incorrect.” He waited until I sent my next arrow zipping toward the target. “Don’t forget to account for the wind.”

“I did account for the wind.” I knew enough to do that. “Then it changed.”

“Then you should have accounted for that too.” He handed me another arrow.

How could I account for something that hadn’t happened? Before I could ask him, he simply put his fingers to his lips.

As instructed, I held myself still, waiting a long moment, listening for the rustling of the wind in the long grass, and realized that I could hear it change before I felt it. I let the arrow fly, smiling when it hit the target square in the center.

Aki merely grunted at my success. “Better. And you haven’t hit the stable once today.”

“If you don’t want arrows in the side of the stable, don’t set up the target so close to it.” The punishment for hitting the stable involved fixing the holes that I had put in it, so I worked hard to avoid that fate.

“Let’s see if you can still hit the target if you can’t see it at all.” He took a strip of fabric and used it to blindfold me.

Really? If this was a prelude to telling me I should use the force, I’d… ok, well actually, that would be pretty cool. Rey from The Force Awakens was one of my spirit guides. Rey, and Black Widow.

“Any time now, Katsu.”

Oh, Right.

Whiz. THONK.

And that was the sound of me spending tomorrow afternoon fixing another hole in the stable wall.

“We’ll have to work on that one.” Aki sounded like he was holding back a laugh.

I pulled off the blindfold, and circled back to the previous topic. “What is it that you do?”

“I’m an information broker.” He moved the target about a meter further back.

“A spy.” That made sense of the vast amount of correspondence and the sheer number of messengers who came in and out of the manor. Although it didn’t explain why he hadn’t managed yet to find my brother. You’d think a spy would be better at finding lost people.

“Spies collect information. I know what to do with it. Then, I fix things.”

I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of that. It brought to mind the idea of mafia and assassins. “What do you mean?”

He picked up two stones from the ground and handed one to me. “You see that pear hanging off the tree? Try to knock it down.”

I flung the stone with all my strength to the pear – but it looked like I was a little off course.

CLINK!

Aki had thrown the other stone right after, hit mine, and diverted it back to the pear. The pear shuddered, and fell to the ground. Ok, that took mad skills, and I definitely wanted to learn how to do that.

“Impressive!” I retrieved the pear and offered it to him. He gestured for me to keep it. “I don’t understand though.” I took a bite of the pear, then wiped my chin on my sleeve when the juice attacked me.

“The rock you threw was on the wrong path. I fixed it,” Aki said. “In the same way, sometimes things need a little nudge to get on the correct path.”

“How do you know what is the right path?” And what is the right path? Right for whom?

He patted my shoulder. “That’s where the information comes in, plus research in tactics, strategy, history, and of course shogi.”

Huh. If Aki has an addiction, it’s to the game of shogi. Visitors were always cajoled into a game, and he also has an extra game board set up where he was playing a long slow game by message with one of his frequent correspondents. “What if you’re wrong?”

“I’m never wrong.” He picked up an extra bow and arrow, and shot three arrows into the target, one after another. They all hit the center. “In any case, with Takauji still injured, I’m going to have you start delivering messages and doing some scouting.” He rubbed his chin. “And instruction in tactics… history… shogi… and manners.” He gave a pointed look at where I was again wiping my chin on my sleeve. “You’re becoming rather feral.”

I enjoyed being a courier. It allowed me to get out the manor and run free from place to place. Aki gifted me with a horse upon my “promotion,” lovely charcoal colored mare with a white crescent on her nose that I named Moonlight. Well, she was a little temperamental, especially in wet weather, but usually we understood each other.

As a messenger, I was fast and I was reliable. Moreover, I learned that not only was I supposed to deliver messages efficiently, but that my job also entailed observing what was going on around me – from the people in the villages to the residents of castles.

Aki always expected a long report of everything I observed, and after a few months, he also began to ask for my interpretation of what I reported. Of course, he was quick to point out when I came to the wrong conclusion.

“No, I doubt Oda’s primary motivation is conquest.” He gestured to a map of disputed territory that had been part of the courier packet. “The words he uses is ‘unite’ the country not ‘subjugate’ it.”

“Mm.” That wasn’t going to happen – well, Nobunaga wouldn’t be the one to accomplish that. I knew, because he was going to be assassinated in about four years. But to mention that would either get me accused of witchcraft – or plotting the assassination myself.

I had decided not to ever share my origins with anyone here. I was afraid of completely screwing up the timeline – what if I prevented my own birth? Or worse, set the world on a course for a third World War? Honestly, though, after being trapped in this era for so long, my other life was seeming more and more like a dream. What if I had already changed things somehow, and the dreamlike quality of my past (the future) was the result of that?

Realizing that Aki was still waiting for my response, I finally said, “The opinion of the people I’ve talked to in the village is that he’s a ruthless killer.”

“He is ruthless, but fair.” Aki walked over to the table that contained two shogi boards. On one, he was teaching me to play the game – so far I hadn’t managed to defeat him. In my defense, the rules weren’t the same as they were in the future, and I kept getting them mixed up.

On the other board was the on-going game he had been playing with his penpal. Given the speed of the mail (a.k.a me), it was likely going to be another year before they finished, because as far as I could tell, he and his correspondent were evenly matched. Aki studied the board for a long moment, then laughed before making a move, slapping down a tile with unnecessary force. He then wrote down the move in a post-script to the missive he’d already written, and handed it to me.

“I’m beginning to think that the most important parts of these messages are the game moves,” I joked.

“Don’t you read them?” Aki asked, looking surprised.

Dude! “Of course not!” I glared at him, feeling insulted. “I would never read someone else’s mail.”

“I expect you to read them.” I must have looked shocked at that, because he laughed as he handed me the hood I used to hide my hair when I went out as Katsuhira. “The most important currency in the world is information. Bank some for yourself.”

Ok then.

I started to open the message.

Aki held up his hand in protest. “Not now! I expect you to read it, but to pretend you didn’t.”

Way too complicated, but this was Aki’s dance that I was trying to learn the steps to. “Alright.” I stuffed the message in my pack. “See you next week.” It generally took me just over ten days to make the round trip of my courier run, but the seven-day workweek didn’t exist in this time. Neither did weekends. Instead, weeks were ten days long, and the tenth day was generally considered a rest day – if there wasn’t too much work to be done.

There were few, if any, rest days on The Mountain.

In the stables, I saddled Moonlight, passing Iekane who was returning from a journey up North. He winked and greeted me with a flirtatious smile. I ducked my head to hide my blush. “Kaya. Off on another shogi mission?”

“Yep. Can’t let the game go on without an answer. Any interesting news from Ezo?” He followed me as I led Moonlight out into the yard. She looked ready to get off to a good gallop. So was I.

Iekane escorted me toward the main gates. “Nothing of note.” He glanced around the yard, then pressed a quick kiss on my lips. When I first arrived at Aki’s, Iekane had been engaged to a merchant’s daughter, but that relationship had ended suddenly, and without any explanation on his part. However, Iekane seemed unbothered by it, and had recovered quickly enough to up his flirting game with me.

I wasn’t unaffected by his smiles and winks. So far, we’d only exchanged a few kisses, but we’d also had a few longish conversations, and discussed our families. Both of us were illegitimate – something that we could bond over, although I gathered Iekane at least knew his father’s identity. I’d even told him about my mother (the story heavily edited to remove references to the whole traveled through time thing). Maybe when I got back from Azuchi, we’d take things further.

It was too beautiful of a day to spend too much time daydreaming about Iekane, and I had a long ride ahead of me. As soon as we’d made our way past the more steep and treacherous slope of the mountain, I encouraged Moonlight to up the pace, but - “Girl, what is your problem?” She was certainly being more temperamental than usual, dancing, and shying at ghosts. I gripped the reigns tighter. “Come on, sweetness, we don’t have time for-“

She actually was trying to buck me off.

Houston, we have a problem.

I stopped her and climbed off. Immediately she calmed down. “If you’re trying to tell me I’m too heavy, think again. Rude.”

Upon examination, I found that there was a thorn had gotten caught in the saddle. Most likely when I had changed my balance before encouraging her to gallop, it had driven into her back and scratched her up. “I’m sorry. You were trying to tell me the only way you knew how, and I didn’t listen.” I found some salve in my pack, and ran it over the scrapes. I put a cloth between the saddle and her back.

The cuts would probably heal up by tomorrow or the next day, but as for now…

“Looks like we’re walking.” I led Moonlight along the road. Good thing I had extra food in my bags.

Eventually I reached a village and bartered with a rice farmer to let me sleep in one of his outbuildings overnight. I traded some of Aki’s dried pears for this privilege, and that night I joined him and his wife for dinner. Over the meal, we exchanged stories, and I made them laugh when I told them about the Portuguese merchant who had been flummoxed by chopsticks.

“How did you come in contact with a Portuguese merchant?” the farmer asked.

“My lord sent me to Osaka to purchase some Chinese silk.” was my official answer. The longer answer was that since my best guess about what happened to Toshiie involved a Portuguese (I’d learned that “the nanban” were the Portuguese) ship, I’d become highly motivated to learn the language. Aki agreed that Portuguese was a skill he wanted at least one person in his household to have, and he made arrangements with a Portuguese merchant to stay with us for a few weeks. Francisco hoped to be learning Japanese in return, although he so far, hadn’t been picking it up very well. He had however (and inexplicably) developed a fondness for Fume, and made plans to stay with us over the winter.

“You’ve seen a great many wonders,” the farmer said, with a hopeful tone in his voice.

I had, most of which wouldn’t exist for a few centuries. But the farmers here had never been more than a few kilometers from their villages, so I described Kyoto as best as I could.

“Anyway,” I said later as we lingered over tea. “I’m sure that if you thought about it, you would realize that you’ve seen wonders too.” I’d been thinking of the simple wonders of sunrises, and spring, so the farmer’s answer was all the more surprising.

He scratched his head. “Well, I don’t know about that. My neighbor though, he said he saw the ghost of Uesugi Kenshin riding through the woods.”

“How did he know that is who it was?”

“The eyes. The sword.” The farmer finished his tea, and brought out a bottle of sake to share. “So many legends about a man who’s barely been dead a year. Some say they saw him brought back from death on the battlefield by a demon in a white cloak.”

As it turned out, Moonlight needed a couple of days before her back had healed enough to ride, but as I didn’t want to stress out my farmer friend by taking too much of his scant food stores (though his farm was actually large for the area, the laws of the day required that he give seventy percent of that to the daimyo)., I got back on the road, and walked her for a couple more days. I had been tempted to leave her temporarily with the farmer, and go on foot, but I knew he couldn’t afford to feed her. At least the weather was still nice - slogging through a rain storm would have been a pain.

Some time I was able to make up by traveling a few hours after dark, but I was still three days late to meet my contact when I got to the booksellers in Azuchi that Aki operated as an information hub. The shop was staffed by an ever-changing stream of Aki’s couriers and former apprentices.

“Katsuhira!” My contact Kyubei looked relieved when we finally connected in front of the shop. “I expected you days ago!”

“Were you worried?” Should I feel flattered that he was concerned, or insulted that he thought I wouldn’t be able to handle any problems? Then again, Kyubei had always struck me as one of those people who was altruistically interested in every person he met, so the concern was probably built into his nature. “I had a slight injury to my horse.” I showed him where the thorn had scratched her back. “We walked for a couple days to give it a chance to heal.”

Kyubei frowned over the injury. “How did a thorn get in there? Do you think someone put it there on purpose?”

“What? No! Why would they?” It wasn’t that I was naïve, but what would be the logic in trying to hurt a lowly messenger? While Aki had enemies, he kept a low enough profile that none of them would go to the trouble of inserting themselves into his household – and if they did, there wouldn’t have been much point in going after me, when Aki was right there. Nor did there seem to be any point in harming me in order to steal the messages I carried. They were all written in codes, and any person wanting the messages translated would need to keep me alive. “I was careless and didn’t check her saddle closely enough.”

Without any further discussion, I passed him Aki’s latest message. Kyubei tucked it away. “Did he tell you to wait for a reply?”

“He didn’t, but since I was already delayed, it would probably be best if I did. He’ll be happy to get the next shogi move, if nothing else.” Anyway, I was hungry, and wouldn’t mind taking the time to get a hot meal in one of the food stalls that lined the market area. I was never invited to follow Kyubei back to his employer – I gathered the man was more secretive than Aki.

“Indeed. My employer as well.” Kyubie smiled. “Good. I’ll return in a couple hours.”

Kyubei headed off, and after I grabbed something to eat, I wandered through Azuchi with a portrait of Toshiie. Azuchi wasn’t close enough to any big ports for this to be any more than shot in the dark, but it did have at least some contact with traders from Hyogo and Osaka. The portrait itself was thanks to the efforts of our Portuguese friend Francisco, who had some drawing skills and with only my verbal description, had managed to produce a fairly accurate rendition of what Toshiie had looked like the last time I had seen him.

I stopped at one stall that looked promising – it had a jumble of goods, some which had clearly been acquired by trade from Europe - and showed the portrait to the merchant. “Pardon me, I’m wondering if you’ve ever seen this man.”

The merchant examined the portrait, and shook his head.

“What is this? Are you peddling art now, Tadayo?” came a voice from behind me. I turned to see an elegant man posing languidly against the wall, as if his own slight weight was too much for him.

“No, I’ve told you, Yoshimoto, there’s no profit in art for me,” replied the merchant.

The man – Yoshimoto – flicked open a fan. “Shame.” He turned his gaze to me. “And you, young sir, are you an artist?”

Ha. I can’t even draw a curve. I passed him the portrait, and explained about my search.

“Hm, clever of you to commission a portrait. Unfortunately, this young man does not look familiar.” Yoshimoto excamined the portrait. “How long have you been looking for him?”

“Three years.” I braced myself for the inevitable - Yep… Yoshimoto and the merchant exchanged looks, which clearly said that after all this time, my search was unlikely to end in success. Annoyed, I added. “I will find him. I have to.”

A flash of what looked like pain and regret crossed Yoshimoto’s face. “I wish you the best of luck in your search then. And if I do encounter your brother, is there a way to get the message to you?” He handed the portrait back.

I carefully rolled it up and placed it in my pack. “I’m not often in Azuchi –“

“Nor am I,” Yoshimoto said. “I shouldn’t even be here now, but am drawn to the shops.”

“In that case,” I pointed out Aki’s book shop, “You may send a message to me – Katsuhira – in that shop. They’ll know how to reach me.”

Yoshimoto bowed and promised to keep a look out. I had no idea how much that promise was worth, or if Yoshimoto had much of a memory for faces, but this was better than no help at all.

By late afternoon, I reconnected with Kyubei, who had brought along not only a message, but also a person. A really grumpy looking man, at that. “That’s a big message,” I joked to Kyubei, although I hoped that I wasn’t going to have to lead this man’s frowning ass all the way back to Aki’s manor.

The grump looked more annoyed at my words. “I’m here to treat your horse.”

Oh, well, then in that case, if Eeyore was here to help Moonlight, then I could put up with his attitude. “Thank you.”

“I’m not doing it for you, I’m doing it for your horse.” Even before Kyubei hastily introduced as him as Tokugawa Ieyasu (Ieyasu – Eeyore. Potato – Potahto) the man was looking at my horse, who sensing an animal lover, batted her eyes at him (I exaggerate… but only by a little).

He schlumped over to Moonlight and examined her back. “I don’t converse with people who mistreat their animals.” He spread some kind of salve over her cuts.

I agreed with the sentiment, but not the accusation. “I don’t mistreat animals. Once I found the thorn, I walked her until it healed enough to ride again.”

Kyubei patted Ieyasu’s arm. “I’m sure he didn’t mean you purposefully hurt her.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.” Ieyasu handed me the container of salve. “Put this on her in the morning, at night, and after every ride.”

“I will.” No reason to antagonize him. He was trying to help, in his dark cloud of a way.

#ikemen sengoku #fanfic #tempest in time series #oc: katsuko #ikesen yoshimoto #ikesen kyubei #ikesen ieyasu

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